


One Year in Tehachapi

by softieghost



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Human AU, Insecure Keith (Voltron), Kid Fic, M/M, Meet-Cute, Rating will change, Set Up Relationship, Slow Burn, Tags to be added, Trans Keith (Voltron), briefly mentioned past assault, finished fic, growing friendship, hunk just tryna see his friend get out there again, keith as a single dad, keith's son being an absolute shit, shiro as a divorced dad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:20:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23953717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softieghost/pseuds/softieghost
Summary: Just when Keith settles into his life, someone new appears and turns his universe upside down. But is Keith too insecure to let a new romance blossom?---“I just don’t want to see you die alone,” Keith’s mother chided from the kitchen.This was not the first time Keith and Krolia had this conversation, but it remained just as one-sided as ever. Keith knew why his mother was so anxious about him being lonely, but that didn’t mean he was about to do something he had absolutely zero desire to do. Never once in his life had he done something he didn’t want to.He wasn’t lonely, no, there were far too many people in his life to be lonely. And that’s why he didn’t need a date.
Relationships: Keith & Krolia (Voltron), Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 44
Kudos: 160





	1. Winter / Prologue

Keith stood outside Thomas’s school building, waiting for the final bell to ring. Parents slowly accumulated around the main doors, standing in groups of two or three, or talking to their cell phones with far-off looks in their eyes. Some parents sat in their cars in the large circular driveway, most of them with their windows down and their eyes trained on the school. Music played from some of them, mixing in the air and confusing Keith’s ears. 

He stood back and watched the other parents mingle. The weather was mild in the winters of southern California, letting parents and older siblings relax outside without complaint. Moms with sweaters spoke to one another freely, chatting happily about whatever was going on in their lives. Keith could overhear one such group of four not too far away from him. 

Four women laughed aloud at some joke, each of them throwing their hands up in the air or clutching their sides. 

One woman, a tall, curvy lady in a plaid sweater and blue jeans, invited the others over to her greenhouse, telling them they could take samples for their own gardens if they wanted. Another woman, tall and statuesque with straight black hair falling around her tan face suggested they bring wine to the greenhouse and make it a party. A petite blonde said they hadn’t hung out together in a while, and the fourth, a kind-looking older lady agreed. The women made plans together, joking about their husbands and kids, their jobs, their lives. 

Keith watched them make plans and balked at himself as some emotion twisted in his throat that he couldn’t explain. He wrapped his arms around his middle and purposefully looked away but his ears burned as he kept listening. Even though he wanted to stop eavesdropping, he couldn’t, like he was watching some car wreck. Though, he figured to himself, the only one in pain here was him. 

Groups of parents surrounded him on the sidewalk as the time grew closer to the final bell. The public school in Tehachapi was a good one, and small to boot, meaning not only did all the kids know each other but the parents did, too. 

Keith tapped his foot and pulled out his phone just to do something with his hands even though he knew before the screen flashed on that he wouldn’t have any new messages. He bit the inside of his lip, pinching himself as he refused to be hurt by it. 

Being lonely and being alone were two different things, he knew. He might be alone, but he is no longer lonely. That desire was gone, he reminded himself as his throat grew tight. 

_ “You’re a fool,”  _ he mouthed to himself. He could see his face in the reflection of the black screen of his phone and it pissed him off. He shoved his phone away and went back to looking at the glass of the school doors. He could see children milling about, waiting for the go-ahead from the office ladies to escape. Thomas’s distinctive mohawk stood out from the crowd, drawing Keith’s eyes right to it, as if it was a neon color. 

Thomas wasn’t looking at him. Instead, he was talking animatedly to another child, his little hands and arms waving in the air. Thomas liked being the center of attention, liked being loud and making an impression. Keith smiled, and, for a moment, forgot about the women making plans next to him. 

\---

“I just don’t want to see you die alone,” Keith’s mother chided from the kitchen. 

Keith closed his eyes and flopped his head against the back of his armchair, the wood inside its worn upholstery biting into his skull. He sighed loudly, knowing full well his mother could hear him from where she stood in the kitchen. 

“Don’t sass me!” 

Keith could picture her wagging her finger at the cutting board, her hand moving as she spoke even though no one could see her. 

This was not the first time Keith and Krolia had this conversation, but it remained just as one-sided as ever. Krolia asked him about his non-existent dating life about once a month these days, up from her previous every-six-month check-ins. Keith knew why his mother was so anxious about him being lonely, but that didn’t mean he was about to do something he had absolutely zero desire to do. Never once in his life had he done something he didn’t want to. 

Krolia rounded the corner, her slippers gently  _ tap-tapping _ against the hardwood of the house. With her she brought a steaming bowl of home-made soup. It smelled too good for Keith to be genuinely mad, so he settled for mild annoyance. 

He opened a single eye, catching his mother’s scowling face. 

“Eat. The leftovers are in your fridge already. I have a date tonight, as I like to have fun. If you need anything, call,” she teased. 

She turned on her heel and made her way up to her bedroom, her slippers shuffling against the floor as she went. 

The bowl warmed Keith’s hands and thighs where it rested, and he sighed again, this time less to annoy his mother and more because of his own frustration at the topic. His mother was neither mean nor insensitive, but she was guilty, and he knew his resentment of her overprotectiveness did neither of them any favors. Still, he wished she would drop it. 

He sipped his soup in the strange quiet of the house. It was rarely so empty these days, and his anxiety spiked at the odd sensation of being alone for the first time in weeks - maybe months. But he wasn’t lonely, no, there were far too many people in his life to be lonely. 

And that’s why he didn’t need a date. 

\---

His mother left at six, not to return to the home until nearly two in the morning. Keith knew this because he was awoken from his spot in his armchair, the same one he had been sitting in when Krolia had left, when she stumbled in through the door, her heels in her hand and her purse dragging behind her. 

“Hi, sweetpea,” she crooned, walking to him with her arms wide and the strap of her red dress falling off her right shoulder. 

“Hn.”

“Go t’bed, sweetie. The chair will hurt your neck.” Krolia stood behind him, her arms falling over his shoulders, and her cheek smooshed into the back of the chair, like she tried to rest her head on his but missed. 

His neck did hurt, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. 

“How was your date?” he asked, standing and stretching. Her arms fell against the back of the chair with a  _ thump _ , amusing Keith slightly. 

“He’s soooo nice, sweetie. I wan’ you t’meet him soon,” she said, her face still smooshed into the back of the chair. Her voice was muffled and slurred, and Keith stood watching her as a strange emotion settled in around his shoulders. It wiggled inside him, nagging, but he pushed it away as he walked around the chair and helped his mother up, holding her around the waist and guiding her upstairs. 

“That’s nice, mom.” 

She hummed, smiling, in response. 

Upstairs, Keith’s mother’s bedroom was at one end of the hallway and his was at the other. In the middle, another bedroom door stood closed. It was a small home with a tiny living room and one bathroom that always felt a little cramped when all three people were home, yet somehow empty when one person was missing. Keith put his mother into her bedroom, knowing she would be mad she slept in her makeup but doing nothing to help her out of it, into his room, and fell face-first into his bed. 

The strange feeling crept back like a chill in the night, and he struggled to sleep for the sound of his heart beating in his own ears.

\---

In the morning, Keith woke as the sun rose, an old habit from military school that he had never been able to fully shake. Some mornings he was able to go back to sleep, but on days like this he pulled himself out of bed and began his routine with begrudging compliance. 

Dressed in his boxers and sleepshirt, Keith walked down the hallway to peak in on his mother who had apparently, some time in the night, gotten herself into pajamas and a creamy face mask, slightly smeared into her hair and on the pillow. He rolled his eyes but smiled, glad to know she was alright, and continued down the stairs, careful to skip the creaky parts. 

Keith’s morning routine - when he was so rarely uninterrupted - was precious to him. First, he made breakfast. Bacon (purposefully burned), pancakes or waffles (with chocolate chips), coffee (black), orange juice (with pulp) in the absolute silence of the desert morning. Then, he sat himself down at the kitchen table and watched the sunrise if he was early enough to catch it.The peacefulness of these mornings were what kept him in this house, even when he felt crowded by neighbors or his mother. 

They lived on the edge of Tehachapi, a small town in California, where civilization met absolute nothingness. Keith’s mother liked to call their stretch of former ranch land “the beach”, as it bordered two extremes - empty space and the busier town. Quite literally, out of the north-most window Keith could see his neighbors, but to the south, nothing but the endless desert greeted him. Most often, he looked south. The steady, unchanging landscape of the desert calmed his thoughts, already circling before his breakfast was complete. Lots to do, so little time. 

In the silence he planned his day. Have breakfast, shower, make breakfast for his mother as she nursed her inevitable hangover, get lectured by his mother for his effort in taking care of her because she was a “self sufficient woman” and “doesn’t need her own son making her food” and then he would run errands and go see Hunk. After he got to Hunk’s, there would be no silence for a while. 

Keith took an anticipatory breath, steeling himself for the day. 

All-in-all, Keith’s life was good. It was small, and simple. He more or less did the same thing each day. Wake up, get his household ready, go to work, come home, clean up, listen to his mother, and go to sleep. It had been many years since military school, or his foster homes, or going out into the desert to be alone and he was not ready to go back to those days. Back then, his biggest feeling was uncertainty, even more so than loneliness. So now, here, he enjoyed his life, and how could he complain, really, when his biggest problem was occasionally needing to be his mother’s designated driver. 

A small life is not a bad life, he reminded himself, while looking south to the expansive desert that was his backyard. 

After breakfast and his shower, Keith dressed, throwing on a black long-sleeve shirt, though he pushed the sleeves up to his elbows, his usual black jeans even though the crotch was wearing thin, and made his mother breakfast. He endured a fight over the fact that he was taking care of her, and ran back to his room to gather his things before he stuffed his feet into heavy combat boots and left for the day. On his way out, he passed the third bedroom of the house, and paused for a second to look at the small, hand-made sign announcing Thomas’s name. Keith smiled to himself, even after eight years of seeing it, and left. 

Keith spent the morning cleaning his shop, buying a few new pairs of jeans from the local thrift store, detailing his car at the car wash, and picking up his prescriptions from the pharmacy. 

Tehachapi was a rather sparse town, the buildings not too close together, even in the “downtown” area. Empty lots nearly out-numbered the stores and houses, which meant every place he needed to be at required driving instead of walking. He certainly didn’t mind driving, but that didn’t mean his ass didn’t start hurting after a while. 

On his way to one last errand, his phone buzzed in his pocket, startling him. Hunk’s text made him curse - he was late. With one hand on his phone and the other on the steering wheel he made a U-turn, a car behind him honking.

The drive was his last vestibule of solitude, and he drank it in even as he sped to meet Hunk. The desert kicked up dirt and debris, creating a little brown and orange bubble following behind him. Part of him wanted to keep driving, to stay alone, but he would never leave his family and his shop behind. They tethered him in space despite his tendency to drift. 

Hunk’s place greeted him well, a little yellow house misplaced in the middle of town - stuck between two office buildings. He’d been offered a lot of money for the lot but told the developers to go fuck themselves and stayed. His lawn, his porch, his window planters, all of it was a middle finger, even though Hunk himself was far too kind to ever say something mean. Keith smiled anyway, knowing Hunk had depths he rarely showed. 

Keith met Hunk in military school. He was the only one to keep in contact with Keith after he was kicked out, and so he was Keith’s oldest friend by default. His kindness knew no bounds and Keith had often been on the receiving end of it, having slept on his couch on more than one occasion.

Keith pulled into the driveway and ran up the short steps to Hunk’s front door, taking them two at a time and quickly wiping his dusty boots off on the doormat, trying to be polite. When he opened the door he was greeted by the smell of fresh bread and the sound of running feet. A flurry of dark hair and a red t-shirt came barreling at him full speed. 

“Papa!” 

Keith instinctively wrapped his arms around his son as they crashed together, the soft  _ oof  _ escaping his lips nothing compared to the warmth settling into his chest. 

“Hey, kiddo. Have a good weekend?” 

Thomas looked up at him, a tornado of energy and chatter. “Yeah, Hunk showed me how to make cake and cupcakes and chocolate chip cookies and bread and then we watched a movie and had pizza and this morning we made more bread!” 

Keith smiled down at him. Thomas was the only person in the universe to be able to fully penetrate Keith’s desire for permanent solitude, the feeling of their togetherness as correct as sunshine and a blue sky. He refused to ever be embarrassed for his love for his child, all too often remembering how the adults in his life were embarrassed of him when he was young. His son was loud and energetic just as he had used to be, but Keith nurtured it, trying everything he could to allow Thomas to flourish. 

His son had been gone all weekend, after asking to have a sleepover at Hunk’s under the guise of learning how to cook. Keith could cook, but Hunk could Cook. He owned a bakery-slash-cafe that was consistently ranked the best in the city, and even in the surrounding area as well. Keith figured a new hobby might do them both well, getting Thomas to channel some of his energy and to teach him self-sufficiency as well as allowing Keith to have the occasional moment of quiet. 

Thomas pulled him into the kitchen, his small hand gripping Keith’s tight. 

“Did you say thank you?”

“Duh!” 

Keith gave his son a look from behind him, willing the power of Fatherhood to send a chill down Thomas’s spine. 

“Thank you Hunk!” Thomas yelled, and Keith smiled again. His kid was a little shit, but he was  _ his _ little shit. 

Hunk, pulling a loaf of bread out of his oven, chuckled. “Anything for you, Tommy. You know I tried to teach your Pop to cook when we were in school together, and he just yelled at me. Good times.” Hunk was overly-wistful in his tone, putting on a dreamy expression and egging Thomas on. 

Thomas gasped and turned to stare at Keith, accusation in his eyes. 

“You can’t yell at Hunk!” he shouted, his foot stomping the floor. 

Hunk laughed as Keith groaned. “I won’t, I won’t,” he reassured him, running his hand through Thomas’s mohawk, half-loving, half-exasperated. 

“Good. He’s the best. Can I come back next weekend and cook more?” Thomas asked, putting on his best puppy dog eyes. 

“If it’s alright with Hunk,” Keith replied. His son was old enough now to be minorly independent, and if that meant sleeping over at other people’s houses, so be it, even if it meant a knot twisted in Keith’s stomach any time his son wasn’t in immediate eyesight. 

Hunk leaned against his kitchen counter and pulled his oven mitts off. “I don’t think I can do next weekend, little man. I have some plans in mind that might involve your Papa. Think you can get him to say yes?” 

Keith squinted and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unhappily anticipatory. 

Thomas was enamored with Hunk and Keith knew it. He would always lose to the two of them when they ganged up, which was more often than it should have been.

Hunk smiled ruefully. “You know my friend Lance? Well, Lance’s roommate is Pidge, and Pidge has a brother named Matt, and Matt’s best friend Shiro is having a birthday-slash-divorce party on February 29th - born on Leap Day so it’s extra special - and we are gonna help, because he just moved back to the city and doesn’t have too many other friends yet.” 

Keith nodded along, suspicious of what the favor at the end of the story might be. 

“My house is too small to host,” Hunk continued, cutting into the bread as he spoke. “Lance and Pidge have a nervous dog so they can’t host, Matt lives with his parents so he can’t host, so we figured if Thomas and your mom go get a hotel room in the city they could go to the aquarium or something-” 

“PAPA I WANNA GO TO THE AQUARIUM.” 

Keith pinched his nose. It was mean, saying something like that in front of Thomas, knowing he would never let it go until it happened. If Keith said no he would be in for a week or two of pre-pre-teen sulks and fights. If he said yes...good behavior for a little while was almost guaranteed. And good behavior out of Thomas was sometimes hard to come by. 

“PAPA IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY LAST WEEK CAN I PLEASE HAVE A EXTRA PRESENT.” 

Keith sighed. 

“I’ll think about it,” he half-lied through gritted teeth. 

Hunk smiled, knowing exactly what he had done. 


	2. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith begrudgingly makes a friend.

Thomas had been born on Valentine’s Day when Keith was nineteen years old. Keith’s pregnancy resulted in him getting kicked out of military school, the loss of his chance of success as a pilot, and needing to sleep on Hunk’s couch, but he didn’t regret it. He couldn’t, not when holding his son had made him feel something he had never felt before. Something like drive, or a glimpse into the future. For the first time, Keith had known he needed to care about what happened to him. The feeling frightened him, sometimes making him insular, overprotective, but he figured that was better than feeling casual about the situation. 

He held tight to his son and let himself mature enough to enroll in community college art classes, and mature even further enough to realize school just didn’t suit him, no matter the style or stakes. He took an apprenticeship in tattooing and never looked back, only ever down at his son to make sure he was alright. 

When his mother found him, he felt something else new. Stability after so long had made him feel wobbly like being at sea, but still he couldn't have stopped even if he wanted to. 

His family might be small, but it was his, and it was enough. He had his son, his mother, and his shop. That was all he needed to sleep at night. 

\---

Krolia packed sandwiches into a little cooler, a smile decorating her face. 

“Are you excited to see sharks, Tommy?” 

“YEAH!” He yelled back, gripping his shark plushie with all his eight-year-old might. “Do you think they have a Great White?!” 

Krolia chuckled. “Mm, I don’t think so, but the website said they had lots of other kinds. And you can even pet a little tiny one!” 

Keith watched them from the kitchen, his smile matching his mother’s. Seeing them interact made some sick kind of nostalgia pull up into his throat, wondering what his childhood would have been like if he could have been eight years old, innocent of the world’s trouble, and going to the aquarium with his mother. He pushed that feeling aside though, instead smiling for his son’s sake. 

Krolia ruffled Thomas’s mohawk as he pumped his arms into the air with excitement. 

“Say goodbye to Papa, okay?” 

Thomas ran over to Keith, throwing his little arms around his father’s waist. Keith dislodged himself and bent down so they could hug each other equally, and pressed a kiss to Thomas’s forehead. He took a subtle whiff of Thomas’s hair, smelling his shampoo and finding himself nostalgic again, but this time in a pleasant way, missing that newborn smell. 

“Be good and listen to grandma,” he said in an almost-warning tone. 

Thomas smiled broadly, sure of his own innocence. 

When the two of them set off, a small knot formed in the pit of Keith’s stomach, as if his circling thoughts had made their way to his belly. Strange, ugly jealousy of Krolia and Thomas, fear from being away from his family, and anxiety over hosting a party for a stranger. When he was younger he didn’t know what it meant to feel so many feelings at once, as the only thing he could feel was anger. Somedays, Keith missed the simplicity of it all. 

Still, Keith took a minute to watch his mother’s car drive away before he turned his attention to the kitchen. 

Though not as skilled as Hunk, Keith was adequate in the kitchen. He’d learned after having Thomas, knowing he needed to cook healthy food at the bare minimum, even if he would never be able to manage tasty food. For the party he threw together some home-made pizzas and sliced fruit and vegetables, then piled them on a large tray he scavenged from the basement. 

He didn’t want to host the party, annoyance and anxiety forming a headache right behind his eyes, but technically speaking he owed Hunk a favor for taking Thomas for the weekend (and the promise of at least one more weekend in the future). 

Keith set his jaw and he put the food out, next to some beers and other drinks, assessing the presentation. It didn’t look that good - the table cloth a little too short, the table a little too bare - but Keith had never promised expert-level styling. It was free food and drink and the crowd coming over would be grateful (or else) especially considering he had to kick his own mother and son out of the house (even though they were excited to leave). 

At six in the evening, Hunk arrived first, all smiles and baked goods. He set his homemade cake down next to Keith’s pizza, its precision and professionality making Keith’s offerings look even more paltry in comparison. Hunk would never say anything, but he eyed up the pizzas with suspicion. 

“What?” Keith deadpanned. 

“Nothing!” Hunk answered, throwing his hands up in a defensive position. “Thanks for hosting. I think you’re really gonna be happy you did.” 

Keith’s hackles raised. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh-,” Hunk started before getting cut off by a knock at the door. 

Allura and Acxa arrived together, invited mostly as a social buffer for Keith to hide behind if need be. They were followed by Lance, who locked eyes with Allura and refused to look away. Lance moved over to Keith without so much as taking off his shoes or jacket. A plastic bag in his left hand rustled as he walked. 

“Keith. Keithy. Please introduce me to the hot chick,” he whispered into Keith’s ear, seemingly not noticing that Allura could hear him as she covered her mouth and giggled. 

“I respect her too much to do that.”

Lance put his hand to his heart and gasped, and Keith wasn’t sure if he was being dramatic or not. Lance was that kind of person - loud and wearing his heart on his sleeve even though it was to his detriment most of the time. Their clashing attitudes meant that Keith wasn’t Lance’s biggest fan, but they’d achieved peace over time. Lance and Hunk were buddies and Keith respected Hunk too much to be a jerk to his friends, so he grinned a bore it most of the time, even if he wanted to stick his fingers in his ears. 

Half an hour and much awkward chit-chat later, Pidge’s green van rolled up in the driveway. Pidge, her brother Matt, and the mystery guest Shiro rolled out, hidden mostly by the long evening shadows. 

Pidge was a mini-Matt, brown tousled hair and big glasses and an even bigger personality. Keith liked Pidge. She was a realist and didn’t bullshit anyone. She could be loud but she wasn’t obnoxious the way Lance was. Matt was loud as well, but was too nerdy to really be a bother. If you gave him a Rubix cube he was entertained. Keith couldn’t begrudge that kind of personality. 

Emerging from the dim outdoor light, Pidge and Matt burst in together, and behind them - 

Well. 

The man who must be Shiro sent a shiver down Keith’s spine. White hair was tousled from the cool breeze outside, and his cheeks were flushed to match. He laughed at a joke Matt or Pidge must have made before they opened the door, showing off a beaming smile and perfect teeth. He was tall, broad, and handsome - unfortunately, painfully, Keith’s type. 

“Close your mouth, Keith,” Hunk whispered to him, mirth coloring his voice. 

Keith spun around and walked to the food table, ashamed of himself. He hated that Hunk knew his type and he hated more that he was brave enough to point it out. Hunk would occasionally show Keith men from apps, gently prodding, “You ready to date yet?” 

Keith stepped away from Hunk, busying himself with picking imaginary lint off of the dining room table and burying his embarrassment when a hand tapped him on the shoulder. 

“You’re Keith, right?” 

Even his voice was sexy. 

Keith spun around, finding himself eye-level with pecs and glanced up. Shiro stepped half a pace backwards, opening up the space between them.

“I’m Shiro,” he said with a smile. 

“I know. I mean, I figured.” Keith fumbled over his words, heat washing over his face. He slid himself from between the table and Shiro’s body, stepping out and away from the conversation. He hurried off, hoping Shiro didn’t see his red face. But when he glanced over his shoulder, Shiro was still standing there, his smile faltering. 

Keith shoved himself into the bathroom as an excuse, and closed the door. 

_ “Jesus Christ, man, get it together.”  _

He looked at himself in the mirror, assessing his appearance. His hair was tied up in a bun, a few strands falling out because no matter what he did he couldn’t tame it. A large scar on his cheek made his smile ever-so-slightly lopsided, and although he normally didn’t care about it, his eyes honed in on how his mouth turned down my millimeters. He frowned for real, masking the asymmetry. 

He’d thrown on a black hoodie and black pants, picking something unassuming and uninteresting on purpose. He looked fine. But, somehow, he felt as if he’d just had his mind read by Shiro, and was left feeling exposed. 

Keith splashed some water on his face and took a deliberate, deep breath. 

When he left, Shiro was leaning against the wall opposite the bathroom. Keith was once again eye level with Shiro’s chest, but this time Shiro backed down the hall, giving them plenty of space. 

“Hey, sorry if I made you uncomfortable earlier,” Shiro said, looking a bit like a kicked puppy. His frown was genuine and his body posture apologetic. His hands were up - one flesh, one metal and plastic. 

Keith swallowed again. “No, it’s fine, it was me. I had to, uh, pee.” 

Shiro’s face turned brighter, seemingly believing Keith’s terrible lie. At the very least, he smiled, showing off his dimples. 

“Thanks for hosting the party. You didn’t have to,” Shiro said, one hand going to the back of his neck. 

Keith waved a hand in front of his face, trying to get Shiro to lay off the praise. “It’s fine. I owed Hunk a favor. And you seem, uh, normal?” 

Keith shot a look up to the ceiling, silently praying for any God that might be listening to shoot him down. 

Shiro laughed, his voice deep and rumbling. Keith blushed again, and his stomach tied in a new kind of knot, so unlike the kind from earlier when he said goodbye to his family. 

Shiro beckoned him forward, towards the living room. “Let’s go join the party.” 

Keith swiped a beer as they walked by the table, and braced himself. It might not have been a lot of people, but Keith was a loner by design, and deeply embarrassed of his behavior. He cracked the top of the can and sipped the cold, bitter beer, nursing it right away. He wasn’t a big drinker, but he knew he would need it for the night. Shiro picked one up, too, and clicked their cans together. 

“Cheers, bro.” 

\---

At midnight, Hunk had his arm slung around Keith’s shoulders and they watched Shiro and Matt drunkenly arm-wrestle over the last beer. Shiro was clearly winning but Matt fought back with all his might, going so far as to use two hands against Shiro’s one, futilely attempting to score a drink. 

“He’s divorced, y’know.” Hunk’s tone was gentle, irritatingly sweet. 

“Yeah, you mentioned,” Keith said, keeping his voice purposefully flat and uninterested. 

Hunk rolled his eyes hard enough his whole head went with it. “My man. Come on. He’s single, he’s your type, he’s gay. He has a kid! I think.” 

“That’s not the point, Hunk. I don’t want to. And even if I did, look at him,” Keith slurred, his words coming out easier than ever, lubricated by alcohol. “He’s huge. He probably would only date some gym dude.” 

Hunk shrugged. “I’unno, man, his husband was kinda...twinkish,” he said with a flourish of his hands. 

Now it was Keith’s turn to roll his eyes, totally unconvinced. “Please don’t do anything. I don’t want to disrupt Thomas’s life. Dating would complicate it.” 

Although not untrue, this was not the only reason Keith refused to date. The other reasons tried desperately to bubble to the surface, to leak into Hunk’s ears from Keith’s drunk self, no matter how hard Keith bit his lips to latch his mouth closed. 

“Little man is totally fine. He’s, like, aggressively adjusted. You did a good job.” 

Keith’s stomach swam at the compliment. It didn’t feel right to be complimented on his parenting skills, much less by a friend. 

“I’ll think about it when he’s in college,” he said, trying to get Hunk to lay off. 

Hunk opened his mouth again to speak but just as he did, Shiro stood up on wobbly legs, looking like a fawn. He was drunk. Properly drunk. 

“D’we have liquor?” 

Keith closed his eyes for a moment and shut out the world as he made his decision. Say no and stay with Hunk, having a terrible conversation, or say yes, and avoid any pressing questions by putting his mouth to a bottle. 

He stalked over to the pantry near the kitchen and reached up on his tiptoes to get the liquor that was stashed up there, away from any curious eight year old boy. 

“Oh, thank you, baby,” came a deep voice from behind Keith. Shiro’s metal hand went up to grab a bottle, his flesh hand resting on Keith’s shoulder. They were pressed back-to-front, and even though Shiro was behind Keith, he was so tall he could stretch right over him to the top shelf. 

Keith let out a small gasp, surprising himself as he felt Shiro rub against him ever so gently. When he stepped away and rejoined the party, something inside Keith was alight. 

He frowned, angry at himself. Hunk was right, Shiro was exactly his type. But he wasn’t about to do something stupid. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t let himself give in, act like he used to, impulsive and selfish. 

A cheer rose from the living room breaking Keith out of his thoughts. His stomach swooped, and he joined the fray, praying his feelings to go away.

By two in the morning Allura was asleep on the couch. Lance was swaying in the corner. Matt was playing Mario Kart by himself and losing. And Keith, well, Keith was king of the castle. He stood in the kitchen eating cold pizza and nursing his cocktail, watching everyone stumble around his house. An unfamiliar sense of pride pooled within him as he watched his oldest friend and his newest friends commingle in front of him. They looked happy, content, all within Keith’s house. 

He looked around himself, counting heads. Hunk, Lance, Allura, Matt, Pidge, Acxa…

Where was the birthday boy? 

Keith frowned. He stalked around the living room, and walked over to the bathroom, both of which were empty. He frowned further, feeling his skin tug at his scar as curiosity turned to annoyance. 

Shiro wasn’t to be found anywhere, not even Keith’s bedroom or his mother’s bedroom, which only left - 

Keith flung his son’s door open, but his heated annoyance immediately shifted to a deep concern as he looked at what Shiro was doing. 

Shiro was laying on his side on Thomas’s bed, holding his phone in front of his face. From where he stood, Keith could see that Shiro’s eyes were wet and sparkling in the blue cellphone light.

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked, his voice louder than he intended, piercing through the silence.

Shiro looked up, his eyes slow to move. “Keith...come look a’ m’baby.” Shiro slurred as he spoke and drunkenly offered his phone to Keith. 

Keith didn’t move, planting himself to the floor in his anger. “Stand up, Shiro. You’re in my kid’s room.” A small fire was burning inside Keith. This man seemed to piss him off just by existing, let alone by him trying to sleep in Thomas’s bed, no matter how drunk he was. Keith shook as he stared ahead, waiting for Shiro to respond. 

After a drunken delay Shiro propped himself up on one arm, shakily as he went. His head seemed to move slower than his body, staying flopped to one side with his eyes closed. 

“She’s wi’ Curtis now. For tha’ weeknd...even tho’ is my birfday.” 

Keith stayed where he was, unmoved by Shiro’s tears. “Get up. The party is over, Shiro.” 

Shiro gasped, surprised at the news and stood, faster than he should have. He started to stumble, his feet not able to hold him up. Keith stepped forward to catch him, Shiro’s weight settling on him like a fog, blinding him. He could do nothing else but hold the behemoth upright. He knew instantly, crushed under Shiro’s weight, he would never get him down the stairs without disaster befalling them both. 

Keith dragged Shiro out of Thomas’s room and looked to the right, at his mother’s room. It felt wrong to let someone sleep in his mother’s bed without her approval, so he went left and dragged Shiro into his room. 

Shiro’s feet shuffled as they walked, moving less on purpose and more on the approximate muscle memory of movement. Keith strained under his weight, taking each step carefully, but slowly and surely making it to his bedside where he was able to shrug Shiro off. Keith’s bed sank under Shiro’s weight, his body slack and forgiving. Shiro seemed to have fallen asleep standing up, and didn’t move from when Keith arranged him - laying on his side, head near the edge of the bed for safe emergency vomiting, if he needed it. 

Keith shoved his wastebin in the approximate blast zone and threw a blanket over Shiro’s lax body before stumbling down the stairs on his own. 

“Party’s over,” he announced from the landing, overlooking the living room. Those left still standing looked at him blearily, and those on the couch barely moved at all.

“Shiro’s asleep so y’all gotta go.” 

He stood and watched as the crowd slowly rumbled back to life, shifting and moving like an amoeba crawling towards the door, gathering jackets and hats, wallets, keys, and snacks for the road. Hunk was the last to get out the door, but turned and winked gratuitously before he left. 

“Fuck off!” Keith shouted, knowing Hunk’s feelings would be far from hurt. 

With the party aborted, Keith flicked off the lights and figured he would clean up in the morning, not caring what happened to the food and drinks that were left out overnight. That was tomorrow Keith’s problem. 

He trudged back upstairs, his feet hitting the steps with heavy thuds. 

\---

Keith rolled over in bed, groaning. His head felt cloudy, his stomach queasy from alcohol and sweets. He reached to his bedside table to turn his lamp on, only to miss, his palm slapping the table. Keith opened his eyes and was greeted by his mother’s comforter. 

_ “Oh, yeah.” _

The house was eerily silent. Keith couldn’t hear the slightest scratching or shuffling coming from his own room, where he knew Shiro was sleeping. 

_ “Oh, God, what if he’s dead…” _

Keith hauled himself out of bed despite the lead in his legs, grimacing against the aches in his head and the cold of the floor. Throwing on his mother’s robe for some semblance of privacy, he walked out of the room and down the hall to his own, ready to pull Shiro out of bed and resurrect him if need be. 

He took a breath, bracing himself, and swung open the door to his room, the knob  _ thunking  _ against the opposite wall. 

But his bed was empty. 

Keith looked around but his bed was made, there was nothing on his floor, and his waste bin was back to where it was normally, away from the bed. A strange sense of worry washed over Keith, and he looked behind himself, head spinning as he stared around for any sign of Shiro or where he might have gone to. 

Keith turned on his heel and walked down the stairs, checking out the living room and the bathroom. No sign of Shiro anywhere. Keith put his hands on his hips and sighed, shaking his head. Just as well that Shiro left on his own, now he didn’t have to deal with it. 

Keith shuffled over to his kitchen and began his morning routine in silence, hearing nothing but the birds outside. 

\---

Two weeks later, in mid-March, Thomas came running into the living room, sliding against the hardwood in his mis-matched socks. 

“Papa! I found somethin’.” 

Keith didn’t look up from his improvised drawing table - a wooden TV table set up in front of his arm chair with a small lamp clipped onto it. It wasn’t the best but it worked, even though it collapsed sometimes. At the moment he was hunched over his sketchbook, neck aching after having been working on some very uninspired flash tattoos he knew he needed to produce but had no desire for. 

“Papa, look at me.” 

Keith sat up straight and rubbed at his face, his eyes burning, but wishing Thomas would go back to playing.

“Yes, honey?” 

Even he could hear the tiredness in his voice so when he pulled his hands away from his face he did his best to twist his mouth into a pleasant smile, trying to make Thomas feel heard despite the fact that Keith really just wanted a nap. 

“I was lookin’ for my stuffed shark ‘n’ thought maybe it was in your room so I went in and looked and looked and looked and found THIS under your bed.” 

Thomas pulled his hands from behind his back and presented Keith with a sparkling, silver wristwatch. It was huge in Thomas’s hands, the face taking up almost his entire palm, the band jingling and glinting in the sunlight filtering through the window. 

Keith snatched it and examined it - he didn’t recognize the watch at all. He had never owned one as nice as this, or even any watch at all. He’d have broken it, surely, if anyone was fool enough to gift him with one. Keith flipped it over and was greeted with an inscription. 

_ For my Grandson on his 18th birthday.  _

A sinking feeling came over Keith, and he knew exactly who the watch belonged to without asking. 

“Can you go get me my phone, Thomas?” 

“Depends. Can we have ice cream?” 

Keith looked up at the ceiling, briefly, re-evaluating his life choices. 

“Sure,” he sighed. 

When Thomas came back, he had Keith’s phone tucked into his back pocket and two bowls of ice cream - one with chocolate sauce and one without. He handed Keith the bowl without and climbed up into the chair with his father, sitting mostly on Keith’s lap. 

“Aren’t you a little big to sit on my lap, Thomas?” 

“No.” 

Three hours later, after getting Shiro’s information from Hunk, who got it from Lance, who got it from Pidge, who got it from Matt, Thomas was distracted playing on his computer, Keith’s sketchbook was put away, and he was on his motorcycle (“the death machine” as his mother liked to call it) and heading to Shiro’s job to return the watch. 

The wind whipped his skin where his gloves met his red moto jacket, making him wince. Even in the warmer weather, the wind was a bitch to deal with, but he wasn’t about to give up his guilty pleasure for some chapped skin. He wound his way down the dusty desert highway towards the city, leaving his tiny Tehachapi far behind, small and run down in his rear-view mirror. 

Shiro’s university was an hour drive away, and Keith was nearly happy about it. He missed driving, out on the open road, no responsibilities, going to the ocean, or out into the orange desert, or even the forests to the north of him. 

\---

The building Shiro worked in was massive, all glittering glass and chrome that reflected the sunlight into Keith’s eyes through his sunglasses. It was alarmingly different than anything he would see back home. His house was one of the rare two-story homes in town, and that was only because they needed three bedrooms. It was a faded orange, a shingle roof, and a creaky porch. Shiro’s building, well. It towered over Keith. 

He stood in front of one of the large panel windows of Shiro’s building and used it’s reflection to fix his hair, pulling it into a bun on the top of his head as a way to mitigate his greasy helmet-hair. He pushed his sunglasses up his nose and straightened his red moto jacket. It was stylishly cropped and skimmed the waistband on his pants, not that he had dressed for any particular reason. 

Shoving his glasses back up his nose (again) he barreled through the revolving door, wanting to get this interaction over as soon as possible. 

The lobby was white and silver - very clinical and clean. The tapping of far-off high heels and dress shoes were the only sound bouncing off the marble tiling, aside from gratingly generic elevator music. Annoyed a little by the sterility of wealth, Keith pulled out his phone and focused on his worn, leather gloves. But before he could fire off a text to Shiro, someone was already tapping him on his shoulder. Keith whipped around and found himself face-to-pecs for the third time.

“Hey,” he grunted, putting his sunglasses on the top of his head. 

Dressed in a white lab coat, as if he was attempting to blend in with the marble, Shiro looked starkly different than he had at the party. He looked professional, his collar buttoned up and his tie neatly matching the checked pattern of his shirt. Something about the uniform seemed off, somehow, to Keith, as if it didn’t fit Shiro’s personality. 

“Thank you so much for bringing the watch to me. I was freaking out a little bit,” Shiro replied, his hand going to the back of his neck. 

The pose highlighted his biceps, and if Keith were a weaker man he would have reached out to touch them. Without responding, Keith pulled his backpack off one shoulder and yanked it to his front, producing the watch. It was warm from being inside the bag in the sun but Shiro snatched it quickly, putting it on his wrist with a vaguely anxious energy about him. 

Shiro’s face looked relieved, his smile genuine and a gentle dusting of pink across his cheeks. 

Keith just stood there, watching, before remembering he had a mouth. 

“So, uh, yeah. See ya-”

“Let me take you to dinner. As a thank you!” Shiro said, waving his hands in front of him. “Seriously, this watch means a lot to me and I kinda slept in your bed, so...dinner?” 

A thrill ran through Keith as he listened to Shiro’s offer - he had no intention of ever seeing the man again. As he opened his mouth to decline, he realized he could, most importantly, snag free food, and less important, wring a better apology out of Shiro if he went. 

“Not too late, I have to drive back home,” he said, tone stern. 

“Excellent!” 

Shiro put his hand firmly on Keith’s shoulder and steered him out of the building, only dropping his hand once they were outside, the weight somehow comforting for a second before it was gone. He put his hand to his eyes to shield them, while Keith flipped down his sunglasses. They walked across the street, Shiro gently guiding Keith by making turns and waiting for him to catch up, smiling like a little kid on the way to a candy store. 

Shiro took them to a small cafe, tucked in between two large buildings. Although it was approaching dinner time, the cafe was empty except for an old woman by the front window and the man behind the counter. 

“This is my favorite spot. It has everything. Order whatever, I’ll get it,” Shiro said as he gestured to the large chalkboard menu above the counter. The board was crammed with lists, different portions written in different colors or outlined to make them stand out. Keith had to squint his eyes to read it and even then there were some menu items too small or cluttered or faded to make out. 

While Keith floundered, Shiro ordered. Keith’s eyes drifted down from the board to Shiro himself, how he leaned on the counter, his hand gripping the lip, his hips leaning in ever so lightly. 

When the man behind the counter turned his face to Keith, he heard himself say, “Whatever he’s having, thanks.” 

Shiro ushered Keith over to a spot in the back of the cafe. The table was made of red and black mosaic, chipped in many spots and with a distinct coffee ring already present. One chair was nothing but an overstuffed ottoman, the other a high-backed wooden thing, which Keith sat in immediately. 

Shiro cleared his throat. “Firstly, I am so sorry about the party. You were nice enough to host and I forgot myself.” He sounded embarrassed, a little defeated maybe. His eyelashes brushed his cheeks as he looked down, avoiding Keith’s face “I haven’t been drunk like that since my twenty-first. I’m really, truly, sorry.” 

Keith looked sideways, squirming in his seat. “It’s fine. We’ve all been there.” Despite his desire for an apology, actually sitting though it made him feel hot, somehow, embarrassed too. He shrugged off his jacket and threw it over the back of the chair. 

Shiro’s eyes glanced up and then over, down both of Keith’s arms. His mouth formed a (cute, pink) little  _ O _ . 

“Wow, I heard you were an artist, but...wow!” Shiro said as he kept staring at Keith’s arms, eyes zig-zagging up and down, making out all the intricate little pieces that made up the whole. 

His arms were mostly covered - almost all black, some pops of color here and there in the larger pieces. Flowers decorated his right bicep, a knife plunging through them, scattering petals. On his left, the sun and moon and stars danced as he moved. Thomas’s name decorated his wrist, a date on the other. Smaller pieces filled in the space, everything from gems to fruit to a wolf howling. 

“You do all this yourself?” 

Keith laughed, bemused. “No, only some of them. The two women I own my shop with, Allura and Acxa - you met them at the party, did most of them.” 

Shiro whistled, long and satisfying. 

Although he knew it was a compliment, his face lit up hot and red under Shiro’s gaze. He sipped his glass of water, his palm coming away wet, and turned the conversation onto Shiro, wanting to be out of the spotlight.

“What do you do?” 

Shiro paused to accept their food from the man from behind the counter before replying. 

“Well,” he started, before biting into what appeared to be falafel, “I’m a PhD candidate in the astrophysics department. And technically I’m a Captain in the US Airforce but they don’t let me fly much these days.” 

Keith raised his eyebrows, impressed. “How old are you, again?” 

Shiro laughed, low and sweet. “I turned thirty-two, don’t you remember? Hunk put candles in the cake.” 

The more they spoke, the more curious Keith became about Shiro. Some of his stories seemed to be missing details, like he was skipping over certain parts on purpose. Keith, though, wasn’t afraid to ask questions and clarify, sure he would never see Shiro again after this impromptu dinner. Part of him let go and spilled facts right back at Shiro, knowing the worst that would happen is Shiro gossiping about him to Matt. 

“You know, I joined military school when I was fifteen. So I guess you could say we’re on the same level,” Keith joked, leaning back into his chair. 

Shiro’s eyebrows rose for the second time. “You don’t seem like the type, quite frankly.” 

Keith grinned, unashamed. “Behavioral issues got me into military school, behavioral issues got me out of military school.” 

Shiro grinned again. “Ah, I see. Well maybe I’ll get you in the flight simulator to see how you do.” 

Keith blushed fiercely - refusing to let Shiro know he set records back in the day. That was one thing he could keep to himself - he had no desire to brag, or to let on that he had ever wanted something besides what he had. 

“I’d rather hear about your adventures, to be honest. Piloting is long behind me.” 

Shiro put his fingers to his chin, striking a dramatic pose as he thought about how to respond. “How about I tell you how I got this scar?” He asked, pointing to the faded pink gash on his nose. 

Keith opened his mouth to reply when his phone buzzed in his pocket, cutting him off. He pulled his phone out and checked the text - his mother, asking where he was. They’d stayed at the cafe much later than Keith had originally planned. His breath caught in his chest when he realized. 

“Sorry to be a Cinderella but I gotta go home,” Keith said, shoving his phone back in his pocket, regretting leaving already. Even though he and Shiro had only spent an hour talking, he felt as if he was walking out of something important, even if he couldn’t put his finger on  _ why  _ it was important. 

Shiro stretched, his t-shirt riding up ever so slightly. “Yeah, me too. I have to pick up my daughter from my ex’s.” 

Keith nodded, refusing to touch on  _ that _ subject. He might have been the one asking questions during their dinner, but he wasn’t going to ask about Shiro’s love life. 

Shiro stood and pulled his phone out. The case was a surprising pink - and even had a small charm tied to one end. 

“Let me get your number, Keith.” His face was just about as pink as his phone and Keith couldn't resist how painfully earnest he was, something in his chest breaking for the man. He sighed to himself and tapped his number into Shiro’s phone, unsure about whether he would end up regretting it. 

On the ride home, Keith felt as if he had left more than the watch behind him. But when he got to his house, checked his phone and saw a text from Shiro asking if he had gotten home safe, he smiled. He fought down the urge to keep talking to him - something in the back of his mind telling him to cool it before he ruined it. 

But despite his hesitation the next text came in the morning, after Keith had woken up and started making breakfast for his mother and Thomas, making him do a double-take. 

_ I think I want a tattoo. What kind of art do *you* do? _

He could feel blood rush to his face before chiding himself for it - there was no need to blush over a text, especially one that was a business inquiry. Maybe he had been lost in the moment yesterday, but there was no way Shiro had been.

Keith set his spatula down on the stove and, with one eye on the pancake batter, responded. 

_ You can look at my instagram, but mostly blackwork.  _

He attached a link to his website and social media and set his phone back down, blacking the screen out, not anticipating a quick response. But he was in the middle of his first flip when his phone chimed again, calling his attention. 

“Wow, Keith, these are incredible. Especially this one!!,” Shiro’s text read (peppered with smiley emojis), along with a screenshot of one of Keith’s posts. The image was of one of the larger pieces he had done for a client - a sleeve of spirits and fog rising above a graveyard, stars and the moon peeking through the black and gray ink. 

He shot a text back, pride making him awkward. “Thanks. It won a competition. Started Thomas’s college fund.” 

Shiro’s reply was fast, pinging Keith’s phone again. “Can I make an appointment?” 

“You free today? I have a slot at three.” Keith replied immediately, not able to look away despite the singing of the pancakes. 

“See you there!” Shiro texted, instant, and with another set of smileys after. 

Keith set his phone aside, face-down, careful not to look but fighting a full-on smile anyway. 

\---

The afternoon sun filtered through the glass windows of Keith’s shop, illuminating everything in a lazy yellow glow. The plants on the windowsill radiated light and shadows danced along the floor when the clouds shifted above them. 

Keith sat at the front counter, alone in the shop today, tapping his foot and waiting for Shiro to show up. He bit his lip nervously, unsure what was coming his way but knowing it couldn’t be good based solely on the butterflies that had invaded his stomach since their morning conversation. 

_ "It’s just business, dipshit, get it together,”  _ he muttered to himself. 

Keith closed his eyes and put his head down, trying to calm himself. Thoughts circled his head like birds in a cartoon, projecting his aura into the entire goddamned universe, he was sure of it. The pressure of the heels of his hands in his eyes grounded him slightly, enough for him to focus on breathing evenly. 

Shiro was so damn handsome. 

“Ahem,” a soft, fake cough startled Keith, making him throw his head up, eyes wide, staring right at Shiro. 

“You okay, man?” Shiro asked, concern decorating his features. 

Keith’s face exploded tomato red. “Oh, yeah, sorry, just thinking about shit. You know.” 

Shiro gave Keith a half smile, clearly not agreeing with Keith’s sentiment but not pushing it anyway. 

Keith stood, brushing invisible lint off his pants as he went. “So. I don’t have any other appointments today so we have as long as you want, within reason. What are you thinking?” He shoved his feelings down and put on his mask of professionalism, the same one he used for customers that pissed him off. 

Shiro’s smile widened and a light pink blush rose up to his high cheekbones. “Well, I dunno. I was thinking you could decide.” 

Keith hesitated for a second, unsure. “Do you have any other art?” 

“Nope.” 

Keith shook his head. “So you want your first piece to be up to me? I don’t think so, buddy. Let me show you my flashes.” 

He walked over to his corner of the shop, past Allura and Axca’s, and dug his binder out of the little desk next to his bench. The binder was black and covered in stickers, affixed there long ago by his son. The pages inside were aged, displaying a few years of work. None of the papers matched, some were different sizes, but all of them were Keith’s, and he was proud of it anyway. 

Keith flipped to the back, his most recent.

“Anything you like?” 

Shiro flipped the pages, looking half heartedly. “See, I was kind of thinking bigger.” 

“Bigger,” Keith repeated, one eyebrow raised. 

“Yeah,” Shiro said, his arm going to the back of his neck again. “So, I started thinking recently, I’m kinda lopsided with the prosthetic so maybe I should get a sleeve or something on my other arm and I can look a little more balanced.” 

Keith’s other eyebrow rose. “Balanced.” 

Shiro’s face went pink. “Yeah! Maybe a half sleeve? Is that too much?” 

Keith fought off an eyeroll, smiling bemusedly instead. “Too much for one sitting but we can work something out. Do you have a theme in mind?” His words came easy from practice, the monotony of the interaction calming him down. 

Keith grabbed his sketchbook and flipped to a fresh page, hoping Shiro would like whatever he came up with. Usually, he would make three or four sketches for clients over the course of a week, giving them options and outs in case nothing spoke to them. Drawing in front of someone, aside from his family, was something he rarely did. 

“Well,” Shiro started. “I like space the most. I like how you do stars, so, maybe stars? The moon and stuff?” 

Keith couldn’t fight the laugh that came out of his mouth as he listened to Shiro explain what he wanted. Shiro was clearly embarrassed, and Keith was surprised by it, but didn’t pry. Lots of clients knew exactly what they wanted but were too shy to explain it. Though, he supposed, that tended to be younger people, not accomplished military men like Shiro. Something about it struck Keith as cute. 

“Ah, Dr, Science wants “the moon and stuff”. Let me see what I can do…,” Keith said, smiling down at his sketchbook. 

With his pencil in hand, Keith started sketching. With the short notice, he didn’t have an image in his mind, instead letting his hand guide him. Wispy clouds appeared, disguising stars and planets in a gentle fog. A mountain, a stream, a guiding light from the heavens illuminating a man looking upwards. He stuck his tongue through his teeth and, with some input from Shiro, completed a rough idea, large enough to wrap around Shiro’s bicep. 

Art wasn’t something that had always come naturally to Keith - he was all too often impeded by his emotional blocks and social situations. But today, even with Shiro looking down on him, the image flew out of his hand faster than he had ever drawn before. Gone were the butterflies from earlier, replaced with a warm, floating feeling. Something like joy.

He straightened, looking upwards and rotating the sketchbook around. He could feel his walls start to come up - ready to defend himself or his art incase Shiro laughed. 

“Well?” 

Shiro’s eyes sparkled as he took the image in, his pupils dancing from point to point in the picture. 

“I love it, Keith. How did you do that?” 

Keith went red. “With your help.”

Shiro smiled so warmly, Keith thought he might be burning up. 

\---

Shiro’s appointment was set for a few weeks from the initial consultation, and Keith found himself restless as he waited. Although he was loath to admit it, he found himself zoning out and thinking about the art he was about to put on Shiro’s arm, where the stars would land on his skin, where the mountains could highlight his definition… 

The weeks were a slow, aching kind of torture. As time crawled on Keith became more and more embarrassed for himself, spending equal time thinking about Shiro and chastising himself for the same thoughts. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t get his mind around the fact that Shiro was friendly, even if they weren’t exactly friends. 

Shiro texted, but it was always centered around the tattoo. Sometimes he asked about Keith’s day, but it was just a politeness. The same with how he asked about Thomas, or the shop. Shiro was very polite, and it was starting to get under Keith’s skin. 

No one had the right to be so... _ nice.  _

Keith ruminated over it as he sat having breakfast, watching the sun rise, waiting for the usual morning text, feeling Shiro bounce around his head. He shook his head, trying to get his thoughts to clear out, but Shiro stayed there, lodged somewhere in his brain like a splinter. 

At the shop Keith waited impatiently for Shiro’s appearance, half annoyed and half nervous. Part of him wanted to set his jaw and get everything over in one day, though he knew that would be an excruciating session for Shiro and despite his irritation, he wouldn’t subject an innocent man to that. 

But when Shiro walked in, sporting shorter-than-average athletic shorts and a tank top, Keith changed his mind, thinking he should just shoot on sight. 

“Hi, Keith,” Shiro smiled as he waved. 

“Hey,” Keith grunted, shoving the mandatory health questionnaire into Shiro’s face without much more of a greeting. 

Shiro backed up and took the paper, slightly startled. 

Keith’s heart melted and he blushed at his own attitude. “Sorry. You gotta, for legal reasons.” 

Shiro nodded and filled it out quickly, ticking off all his boxes and signing his name with a flourish. 

“Sorry if my handwriting sucks, I was right handed but this thing has terrible fine motor skills,” he said, patting the plastic and metal arm attached to him. 

“S’no problem, Shiro,” Keith said, Shiro’s name sliding out of his mouth like silk, fine and gentle. 

To cover up his embarrassment, Keith turned and waved Shiro back to his bench, already propped up into a sitting position. 

“Just get comfortable. You can sit however you want.” 

Shiro settled, sitting with his legs spread ever so slightly, his arm at Keith’s height perfectly without adjusting. 

Keith thumped down into his chair, spinning to grab some things out of his drawers and prep his gun. 

“So, first, I have to shave you.” 

Shiro’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Oh.” 

“The hair can jam the gun, no matter how fine.” 

Shiro nodded, eyeing Keith. 

Keith grabbed his disposable razor in one hand and shaving gel in the other. He swallowed, sweat breaking out on his palms, and started working. 

Shiro’s arm was massive, at least twice as thick as Keith’s own, and it radiated heat even though the shaving gel. With every swipe of the razor Keith got up close to Shiro, ensuring every single hair was gone and wiped away. Shiro closed his eyes, seemingly enjoying the pampering. Keith fought his own smile, not wanting to get caught. 

He wiped Shiro down one last time before applying the stencil, gently rubbing the ink from the paper into Shiro’s skin, making sure it wrapped around his bicep well. 

“Okay, take a look in the mirror?” Keith asked, making Shiro come out of his quiet peacefulness. 

Shiro stood and walked over to the large wall mirror that hung in Keith’s portion of the shop. Keith followed with a smaller mirror, making sure Shiro could get a good look at the back of his arm without twisting too much. 

“I’ll freehand where the image joins up to make sure it’s smooth.” 

Shiro made a face, impressed. “Talented.” 

Keith waved his hand, embarrassed. “It’s pretty basic. You ready to get started?” 

Shiro nodded, and sat down again. 

Keith turned his gun on, enjoying the familiar buzz, and got to work. Though Shiro was a large and sturdy man, Keith touched him as gently as he could, less for fear of hurting him and more to keep some sort of distance between them. 

They sat in relative silence for the duration of the day’s session, occasionally chatting about the tattoo, or the weather, or work. Mostly, Keith focused on the piece in front of him, wanting to get every detail smooth and even. The line work for the piece was thin, anyway, gentle, lending itself to wistfulness, and required precision to keep it even. There was no room for error.

Though he became distracted when he could start to feel Shiro stare at him in the wall mirror.

It was normal, most clients did it. The mirror’s placement was unfortunate but he didn’t have the energy to move the whole thing - a heavy piece of large glass in an ornate frame, found at a garage sale for cheap. So he knew he would be watched, but something was different about being watched by Shiro. 

Shiro wasn’t being critical of the art, nor was he staring at Keith’s ass. He was just looking, his eyes gazing at Keith’s face, his hands, his hair, moving up and down his body and then away occasionally, like he was getting caught even though Keith wouldn’t dare make eye contact with him or even his reflection. He knew he was being watched from Shiro’s micromovements and the feeling of hair going up on his neck. He didn’t need to prove it. 

All-in-all, the session was one of the more pleasant ones Keith had had in a long time. But five hours in a chair was still five hours, and that was just the linework. 

“How are you feeling, Shiro?” Keith said, sitting up and stretching after finishing the joining lines that completed the wrap-around effect. 

Shiro let out a long breath, as if he had been holding it the entire time. “I’m okay. Stiff mostly.” 

“Yeah, me too. Let’s pack up for this appointment and we can make another one for shading.” 

Shrio stood, slightly wobbly for a moment, and stretched big, his shirt riding up on his lower stomach. He walked towards the mirror and began inspecting the tattoo, turning all kinds of ways to see it at every angle.

“Keith...this is amazing. I can’t wait to see it shaded,” he said with a smile on his face. His tone was surprisingly quiet and gentle, almost emotional. 

Keith waved his hand, looking away. “It’s nothing, Shrio.”

“No, it’s not nothing. It’s everything, Keith. Thank you.” 

Keith waved his hands again, not knowing how else to respond. Instead, he grabbed protective tattoo film from his station and began bandaging Shiro up, instructing him on how long to leave everything on and the aftercare process. Shiro listened attentively, and even took notes on his phone. 

It was cute. 

\---

In the month between Shiro’s first appointment and the last, they continued to text most days. Shiro would occasionally call when he was out and about, sometimes Keith would call when he was walking his dog. 

Their friendship bloomed tenderly, cautiously. Keith rarely shared but when he did, Shiro listened attentively, occasionally offering his own experiences and insights. He sent Keith photos of his daughter, blue-eyed six year old girl named Abigail, whose blonde hair was always in messy, fussy ringlets. 

Keith learned about Shiro’s job, and his research at the University, and his past in the Airforce. The only topic he actively avoided sharing about with Keith was his ex husband, Curtis. Keith never pressed, though, never wanting to overstep his bounds with his new-found friend. Where Shiro didn’t share about his past relationship, nor did Keith, even though there was less “relationship” there and more “one-night stand”. 

So when Shiro walked into Keith’s shop, smiles all the way, Keith didn’t feel any of the anxiety he had felt the first time around. Instead, his smile matched Shiro’s. 

“Hey, man,” Shiro grinned, shrugging off his light jacket. “Ready to finish this?” 

Keith waved him over to the bench and inspected how well the original tattoo had healed, privately pleased with his own work. 

“Shading will be worse than the linework, so buckle up.” 

Shiro laughed gently. “You’re not gonna ask me if I don’t want to?” 

“Nope.” 

Shiro continued to laugh, a light chuckle that brought a blush to Keith’s face even after having grown a genuine friendship. No longer was Shiro a handsome stranger, acquaintance, they were friends and Keith knew he had no right to find Shiro so charming still, but he did. 

The session was long, about seven hours, as Keith inked every bit of detail and shade in that he could, doing some of the best work he had ever done, and purposefully so. If his friend was going to wear his art, it had better be good. Shiro requested small pops of gentle color, yellow and blue in the stars, a hint of green in the grass below, and Keith put that in too, working freehand and guided only by his imagination and Shiro’s gentle prodding. 

Despite the blood, Shiro didn’t flinch the entire session, chatting with Keith the entire way. He remarked that the buzzing of the gun was soothing, somehow quieting more anxious parts of his brain, and the tone in which he spoke - soft, vulnerable - made Keith stop working for a moment and pretend not to be emotional. 

“I feel that way too, you know,” he returned. 

Shiro’s expression was so open, so kind, Keith buried his head in his work again, hiding himself. 

He had begrudgingly made a friend, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ruin it with some dumb crush. Absolutely not. 

But after the session ended, when the tattoo was inspected and approved, wrapped up and protected, Shiro ramped up the charm once more, fist-fighting Keith’s instincts to protect himself without even knowing it. 

“So, how much do I owe you?” He asked with an eyebrow quirked and his hand on his back pocket, where his wallet was. 

Keith fidgeted in return. “You don’t owe me anything, Shiro.” 

Shiro opened his mouth to respond but Keith kept on talking, blurting out his explanation. 

“We’re friends now, right? Just keep being my friend and, yeah, you don’t owe me anything.” 

Shiro cocked his head to the side, like he was trying to figure Keith out. “Well...I’m not really comfortable not paying you. Can I at least take you out to dinner or something. As a thank you?” 

“It’s not really about what you’re comfortable with. I’m the owner of this shop and I can decide who gets a freebie and who doesn’t. But...sure. Dinner as friends.” 

Shiro’s expression stayed confused, if only for a second. It morphed into a gently neutral face, the hint of a smile ghosting his lips. 

“Sure. Then, come with me. I’ll take you to my favorite place.” 

This is how Keith ended up sitting across from Shiro in an intimate booth, under low lighting, in a rather upscale Japanese restaurant, nothing of the likes would ever be seen in Tehachapi. 

He squirmed. “Are you sure this isn’t too much?” 

“Keith, you told me not to pay for a piece of art that should have cost me upwards of a grand. It’s not too much. In fact, we should come back here a few times.” 

Keith looked down at his chopsticks, suddenly uncomfortable with the attention. In his shop, or even over text, he could take a compliment. But here, in an expensive restaurant, Shiro looking at him through kind, gray eyes, dancing in flickering candle light, Keith couldn’t handle himself. His sweat clung to him the same way his “out-of-place” aura did, alerting the staff to his lesser class, his mundaneness. Shiro, of course, didn’t have this problem, looking handsome and well adjusted in even his long-sleeve henley, slightly rumpled on one side from the protective film under it. 

Shiro’s gaze lingered on Keith, but his expression was ever-so-slightly guarded. 

“So...you like sushi?” 

Keith cleared his throat. “I’ve actually never had it.” 

Shiro looked surprised, his eyebrows rising. “Well, this is extra special then. I hope you like it.” 

Shiro ordered a few large platters, practically getting one of every kind delivered to their table by a harried-looking waiter. He got miso soup, gyoza, Japanese beer, and takoyaki to round out the meal. Keith was overwhelmed, not knowing where to start. His chopsticks lingered over everything as he weighed his options - salmon, crab, tuna, shrimp, sweet potato, octopus… 

Shiro grabbed a smaller plate and put together a few pieces, handing the plate to Keith. 

“Try those and tell me what you like.” 

Keith did, flavors he had never had before exploding in his mouth, making his stomach rumble with a desire for more. He sipped his beer and accepted curated plate after curated plate from Shiro, downing everything with miso soup, trying soy sauce and spicy mayo. He couldn’t help himself, not when it was Shiro offering. 

“This is so fucking good, Shiro,” Keith groaned, sitting back in his chair, feeling like he needed to catch his breath ever so slightly from how fast he had eaten. 

Shiro laughed hard, loudly enough for the neighboring booth to peek over at them, before pouring Keith a shot of warm saki from the carafe. 

“Cheers, Keith.” His voice was husky, warm from beer and good food. Keith returned his smile, hot all over. 

When Keith opened his eyes from taking his shot, the alcohol burning ever so slightly in his throat, Shiro was sitting up straighter, his hands folded neatly in his lap. 

“You know, Keith. One of the reasons Curtis divorced me was because he said I was a poor communicator.” 

Keith was taken aback, surprised by the sudden shift in the air of the conversation. 

“Oh, um, I’m sorry, Shiro…” 

“Well, he was right. I expect people to know what I mean even when I don’t express it. So, what I’m saying is…,” his voice got ever so slightly quieter as he finished his sentence. 

“I was hoping this wouldn’t be a dinner as friends. Maybe...a date?” 

Lightning struck Keith through the head, shocked by the words that were coming out of Shiro’s mouth. 

“A date? With me? Why?” He was sure he was misunderstanding Shiro, baffled as to why he would be interested at all. 

Shiro chuckled. “Yes, you, no one else is here. And, well, I think we have a good thing going. You’re very handsome. I...like you, Keith.” 

Keith scrambled to find a response, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. His face was red, as it so often was around Shiro, his hands clenched tight in his lap. 

Shiro’s smile faded. “We absolutely don’t have to, Keith…” 

“It’s just no one’s ever asked me out! I mean, no one has ever...I’m surprised.” 

Shiro opened his hands, waving them vaguely. His expression was still awkward, but he became more serious as Keith spoke. 

“I’m surprised. You’re great, Keith. But if you don’t want to, I understand.” 

Keith’s heart raced in his chest, still blown away by the conversation. No one had ever asked him out, turned off by his attitude or his child or his body. No one had ever met him in the middle the way Shiro had, gently, with friendship first. 

“We could...maybe go on one date. And see,” he said, tumbling over his words as they fell out of his mouth before he could do anything to stop them. 

Shiro beamed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment or kudos if you liked it! Helps me keep going. 
> 
> You can follow me on twitter @softiewrites
> 
> Thank you to @voxane and @thoughtsappear for beta-ing.


	3. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Shiro get closer. 
> 
> Please note the rating has gone up! And, TW for a briefly mentioned/implied past assault.

Keith walked out of the heat and into his house in a daze. His head was cloudy and he couldn’t help but bring his fingers to his lips, as if he was still shocked by the words that had come out of them. In the entryway he touched his mouth again, wondering what had bubbled up inside him to say ‘yes’ to Shiro. 

Hi smother, sitting in the living room with a book open and on her lap, tracked his movements with just her eyes, a knowing expression on her face. Her smile sent a shiver down Keith’s spine despite the temperature, as if he were a teenager caught breaking curfew. 

“Good day, Keith?” Her expression so self-congratulating Keith had to roll his eyes at her, breaking himself out of his little fog. 

“Things were fine.” He hoped his tone didn’t give him away too easily, but he knew Krolia has always been able to see through him no matter what he did. 

Krolia smiled widely. “You like him, don’t you?” 

Keith turned from her and placed his helmet on the pegs that hung by the door, wondering if he should admit it. Part of him liked keeping the situation a secret, tucked safely away in his chest, protecting himself for when things inevitably soured. The other part, the loud part, the part that wanted to shout from the rooftops that he had been the one to claim someone like Shiro, won out. 

“He asked me out and I panicked and said yes.” 

Krolia stood from her chair and embraced Keith, her hug so tight his breath escaped him. 

“Mom…”

She answered his pleas by kissing the top of his head. “You deserve to be loved.” 

Keith rolled his eyes, dismissing her dramatics before extracting himself from her arms, walking into the kitchen and looking around, hoping for an easy change of subject.

“Where’s Thomas?” 

Krolia followed behind Keith, putting her hand on his shoulder to force him to turn to face her. 

“In his room. Is he cute?” 

“Thomas?” 

“The man you’re seeing!” 

Keith left the kitchen, practically running away from the topic, and walked back to the living room. He picked up one of Thomas’s discarded socks and clenched it in his hand, as if that had been the reason he was looking for his son in the first place. 

Krolia spoke again, the smile obvious in her voice. “Can you show me a picture?” 

Keith sighed and dodged Krolia’s outstretched arms, moving around her like a boxer dodges a punch. 

“Can you leave it alone?” 

“No! I want to see the man that my son is finally interested in.” 

Keith groaned, running his hand down his face. “Fine!” 

He pulled his phone from his back pocket and pulled up his very-rarely used social media accounts, searching for  _ Takashi Shirogane _ in friends-of-friends profiles. 

Shiro’s account was rather bland, but his photos spoke for themselves. Nice business headshots next to the occasional candid of him with a beer, or a saki glass, or out on the beach, or at the gym. Keith made a mental note to circle back to those photos when he was alone later. 

Krolia crowded in close to him and peered over his shoulder. “Oh, Keith,” she started. “We have the same taste in men.” 

Keith closed his phone instantly, groaning once again. “Ew, mom.” 

As Krolia laughed at herself, a shadow appeared at the top of the stairs. Thomas’s voice was sleepy, as if he had just woken up from a nap. 

“Why are you tasting men?” He asked, rubbing his eyes. 

Krolia’s laughter deepened, her eyes twinkling with joyful tears. Keith cringed at himself but walked up the stairs to greet his son. 

“Don’t worry about it…,” he muttered, hugging Thomas tight and kissing his head. 

\---

One month and three dates later, Keith found himself out in the desert on his motorcycle. Only, he wasn’t alone. Shiro sat next to him on a rented bike, revving the engine and grinning. 

Keith looked ahead of himself at the orange sand and dirt, the cacti, the clear blue sky and beaming sunlight. Summer was in full swing out here in the southwestern desert, and it was hot as Hell. Sweat trickled down Keith’s neck and into his shirt but he fought the urge to wipe it away. He couldn’t lose any concentration. 

Shiro’s voice met him like a cat’s purr - rumbly but pleasant. 

“Ready?” 

Keith fixed his visor, protecting his face from the sun and sand. 

“Born ready.” 

With a countdown, they were off, speeding faster than Keith had gone in a long time. Shiro let out a shout, happy and carefree, his voice catching the wind and carrying to all the mountains and plateaus around them. The greenery faded into a smudge like a watercolor painting as Keith upped the ante, flying past Shiro and taunting him to catch up. 

The air in Keith’s lungs was dirty, sandy, desert air but he breathed easy through it. He could feel his face contorting into a smile, his eyes bright and wide in the sunshine and joy of the day. 

Shiro bolted past him, winding down the path without a care in the world and leaving Keith in the dust. Keith couldn’t be mad, though, as this is exactly what he wanted. A partner in crime to set him loose. 

Falling into this relationship was a lot like speeding through the desert, he found. All it took, when it really came down to it, was one foot on the gas and one eye on the horizon. Everything else was instinct. When he managed to shut down high higher brain functions - anxiously overthinking every interaction, suppressing the urge to scream _ fuck off  _ and run away - spending time with Shiro came as easily as breathing. 

Keith didn’t quite trust it some days. 

But Shiro never pushed, never held on too tight. He chased Keith, but never caught him. 

Shiro kept pace with him on the bike, falling back to ride at Keith’s side even though it was intended to be a race. Keith looked over briefly to see Shiro staring back at him, one eye on the road. They hung there for a moment before speeding up, reengaging with the competition. 

Keith’s heart jumped into his throat, beating hard as he sped forward, chasing Shiro down. The finish line was fast approaching, and Keith knew he was going to win. He knew every twist and turn of this path, every rock in this desert, and he was determined to show Shiro what he could do. 

So he hit the throttle, sped forward and overtook Shiro, flashing him a peace sign as he tilted and turned down the windy path to the small oasis that was the finish line, doing a lap around it in order to celebrate his win. 

_ “Wa-hoo!” _ He screamed, pumping his fist into the air, watching Shiro come down over the last hill, eating Keith’s dust. 

Shiro pulled up, killing his engine and removing his helmet. 

“Wow, Keith, that was incredible.” 

“Don’t mess with the best, baby,” he said with a gratuitous wink. 

Shiro chuckled and ran his hand through his hair before standing and jogging over to Keith, wrapping his warm arms around Keith’s small waist. 

A look came over Shiro’s face before he leaned in, capturing Keith’s mouth with his own. Shiro’s mouth was warm and soft, his kiss like a small fire, sending shivers down Keith’s spine. Although it wasn’t their first kiss, Keith was still getting used to it. He clung to Shiro, holding onto his shoulders for dear life as their kiss deepened, something quiet and dangerous sparking between them.

Shiro’s mouth turned into a smile, breaking their kiss. But he didn’t pull his head away, instead speaking into Keith’s mouth, giving him small kisses and breaths in between his words. 

“I’m so proud of you, Keith.” 

Keith pulled his head away ever so slightly, conscious of how wet his lips were after the kiss. 

“Proud of me for kicking your ass, old timer?” 

“What can I say, I like a man who can kick my ass.” 

Keith laughed, throwing his head back but not moving at all, still caught tight in Shiro’s arms. Shiro held on, learning forward to kiss Keith again, and all Keith could do was be reminded about how sudden this all was, but how lucky, how happy, how grateful he felt to have been introduced to Shiro. 

“Do you want to get back home…? We can eat,” Shiro suggested, looking back at their bikes. 

Keith extracted himself from Shiro’s grasp, grinning ruefully. “Race you again. Loser cooks.”

“Shiro started running for his bike before Keith could register his movement. “You’re on!”

Heat and dust swirled around them as they played, running back to their bikes, sharing kisses, pushing each other around. The energy thrummed between them, electric like the moments before a lightning storm, or humid before the rain. Keith lost himself in it, forgetting, for a moment, to be self conscious. 

They rode back to Keith’s house, which was empty for the time being. Krolia had taken Thomas to her art studio at the local community college, where she taught painting. She always volunteered to teach during the Summer, not just for the income, but to ensure Keith didn’t have to find childcare. Thomas was a semi-permanent fixture on the college’s campus, Krolia’s students recognizing his little face. 

Keith and Shiro tumbled into the door together, Keith feeling a bit like a younger version of himself. He knew he was beginning to get out of control, especially when Shiro picked him up by the waist, carrying him like a father carries a misbehaving child. He flailed his legs, yelling into the silent house, pretending to be angry about the physical attention. Keith was tossed into the kitchen, Shiro’s face screwed up in precocious joy. 

“Hey,” Keith yelled. “I won twice! You have to cook for me!” 

“This is your house, I can’t cook here. It’s rude,” Shiro said with a smile. 

Keith took a few large steps, ending up behind Shiro and shoved him farther into the kitchen. But he pushed too hard and Shiro ended up pressed against the counter, Keith’s hips following suit, hitting Shiro right in the ass. 

Keith lingered for a moment before wrenching himself backwards, the shock of being so forward startling himself. 

Shiro turned but continued to lean against the counter, his arms bracing himself, fingers curled around the edge.He tilted his head at Keith for a moment, thinking, before opening his mouth to speak. His tone was measured, as if he was choosing his words carefully. 

“Can I ask you something?” 

Keith stood in the middle of the kitchen, a few paces away from Shiro. He crossed his arms but replied. 

“Sure.” 

“Would you…,” he trailed off, eyes going up like he was thinking again. “I should just be straight forward - are interested in sex?” 

Keith’s face - and neck, and chest, and whole body - went red. His palms pricked with sweat as he raced through all of his possible answers. 

“I - well, yes, but… it’s… I guess it takes me a while to come out of my shell.” Keith floundered, knowing exactly how lame his little excuse was. It wasn’t entirely a lie to say Keith was introverted, or shy, but he felt guilt rise in his throat, knowing he wasn’t telling Shiro the exact truth. 

Shiro’s body language remained unchanged - carefully casual. 

“I’m only asking in general. We don’t have to do anything now.” 

“Good,” Keith blurted. “Now move and I’ll make you food.” 

Shiro’s smile was gentle - painfully sincere, and Keith found himself mad at Shiro for his kindness not for the first time since they had been introduced. He stepped away from the counter but didn’t leave, instead going to the fridge and opening it. 

“I’ll help.” 

\---

Mid July, his mother put her hand on his shoulder and turned his life upside down. 

“Keith, we’ve been putting it off long enough. It’s time for you to meet the man I’m seeing.” 

\---

The meeting (or  _ Meeting _ , as Keith thought of it) was scheduled to happen that weekend. Keith cancelled his usual date with Shiro much to both of their disappointments, and went to his closet to find an outfit. 

His instinct told him to dress as mean and off-putting as possible, but he knew his mother did not need his protection, no matter how much he wanted to offer it. Instead, he pulled out a simple, black, long-sleeve shirt and some jeans, throwing them on with his black boots. He tossed his hair into a quick braid, letting it hang down his back and out of his face, though his bangs obscured his forehead. He needed to trim them but he couldn’t find his hair scissors, probably taken and lost by Thomas some time ago. His scar pulled at his smile as he practiced looking happy and excited in the mirror. 

His mother appeared in the doorway without much of a sound. “Ready, kiddo?” 

Keith nodded and turned towards her, following her out of the house. 

They got into Krolia’s car, the backseat used more as storage for random canvases, paints, and brushes that she either took to or from school. They’d been in the back for so long Keith could no longer remember which direction they were supposed to go in. 

Krolia, clothed in a tight purple dress and a black jacket despite the summer heat, sat quietly before clearing her throat conspicuously. 

“Keith… you know he will never replace your father.” Her tone was soft but pointed, more a request for submission than a plea for kindness. 

“Yeah, I know, mom,” Keith said, looking out the window. He didn’t particularly want to talk about his father at the moment, his throat already tightening at nothing but the mention of him. 

“Plus,” Krolia continued. “I really do think you’ll like him. He’s a mechanic and a local union leader. He’s kind.” 

Keith turned to look at his mom, thinking about what he was going to say when she continued. 

“I will say I divulged some important information about you. I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t, you know, a bigot or anything before I pursued the relationship.” 

Keith turned away from Krolia, something he couldn’t name pooling inside him. He knew she had his best interests at heart, but he didn’t like the idea of being talked about, in any capacity, much less about his past, or his body. 

When he didn’t say anything, Krolia started speaking again. 

“Keith...I’m sorry if that was wrong of me.” 

He could hear the confused hurt in her voice, knowing it was genuine. 

He sighed. “It’s fine. It’s just weird to know I’m being talked about, I guess.” 

“Why wouldn’t I talk about you? You’re the light of my life.” She said it so casually, Keith’s throat tightened again. He stared out the window for the rest of the car ride. 

Krolia drove them to a pub in the downtown area of Tehachapi. It was a quaint and slightly run-down affair, old green paint chipping off from years of wear and tear. The sign out front - St. Paddy’s - likely hung there for twenty-plus years, having never been updated. 

Krolia parked in the gravely parking lot, her tired crunching as they pulled up slowly. Keith felt his heart jump up into his throat as he and his mother walked into the pub. He was glad the lighting was poor and the music was loud, knowing it would help him hide his nerves. He shuffled awkwardly behind Krolia, following her to what felt like might be the most nerve-wracking meeting of his life. 

The pub was dark and noisy, music mixing with conversation into a cacophony that didn’t lend itself for a traditional familial meeting. Most of the tables were mismatched or wobbly, and the chairs were scattered around the place, borrowed from their original locations to serve the needs of drunk and rambunctious patrons. The waitresses turned sideways to skitter through the crowd, their trays shaking but never dropping food or drink, practiced and bored by the unruly crowds. 

Keith wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. He sat down next to his mother and he stared at the empty seat across from him, where the man he was to meet would soon sit. He knew this man wouldn’t replace his father, likely wouldn’t ever attempt to move into a parenting role seeing as Keith was twenty-seven and a father himself. Still, his breath was short and the image of his family together - him as a baby, his father, and his mother flashed in his brain. 

Krolia reached under the table and squeezed his hand. 

As Keith took a deep breath, a man - a large man - rounded the corner. This man was taller than Shiro - likely in the six-foot-five range. His hair was mostly gray and long, braided neatly down his back and he was holding a small bouquet of red roses. 

“Kolivan!”

Krolia stood up, her chair squeaking against the floor and hugged the man - Kolivan, his flowers getting slightly squashed between them. 

“Kolivan, this is my son, Keith,” Krolia said with a smile large and bright enough to light up a football field. 

Keith stood and stuck out his hand, feeling awkward even though Kolivan gripped it without missing a beat. 

Kolivan sat, barely fitting at the small pub table they were crammed into. Krolia settled in next to Keith, who was the last to sit, hastily grabbing his chair again and throwing himself down into it. The thin cushion did little to protect his butt from hurting. 

Kolivan looked right at Keith, smiling like he could see right through him. “I’m happy to finally meet you, Keith. Your mother has told me so much about you.” His voice was deep and cool, but whereas Keith might have thought it would be friendly, Kolivan sounded happy enough to be speaking to him. 

“Ah, yeah, same here, Mr. uh, Kolivan.” Keith spluttered. He felt the lie drop from his mouth, realizing as he said it that his mother had in fact not told him anything about this man aside from the idea that he was “nice”. 

Kolivan chuckled and sat back into his chair. “Just call me Kolivan. I’ve never been a “mister” type.” 

Keith nodded, not trusting his mouth to answer. 

Kolivan didn’t press, instead looking at Krolia and asking her about her day, about her job and her students, her latest painting. He was certainly more talkative than his gruff appearance would lead anyone to believe. Frown (smile?) lines deepened his face, crows feet made his eyes seem fragile and twinkling. Still, he spoke in a gentle tone, just loud enough to be heard, but not a shout. 

Occasionally, he turned the conversation onto Keith, asking him if he was in school, or how Thomas was doing. An arrow went through Keith’s heart the first time Kolivan asked, feeling somehow both simply seen and overly examined. 

The only thing that kept Keith from bolting, as, perhaps, he might have done in the past, was the warmth Krolia was radiating. Her smile stayed put the entire evening, through beer, appetizers, shepherd's pie, bread, and more beer. She had one hand in Keith’s and her eyes on Kolivan, and even Keith could feel his walls starting to crumble, seeing how in love his mother was. 

Keith knew he owed everything to his mother, perhaps ironically. They had many conversations - and fights - about Keith’s childhood, his loneliness. But when Krolia came back and listened so intently, never questioning or belittling Keith’s experiences, Keith felt himself forgiving her from day one. Her deportation wasn’t her fault, and how was she to know Keith’s father would die less than ten years later. But she did the right thing, she came back to the country - this time without overstaying her visa - and built a home for Keith, his son, and her to live in. 

If she could do the right thing in the face of the most adversity, Keith knew he could do this. He just had to remember how. He willed bravery to fill him, and took a deep breath. 

“So, Kolivan, my mom says you’re a mechanic?” 

Kolivan turned to face Keith, looking mildly surprised he had finally spoken. “I am.” 

Keith fidgeted, but made eye contact anyway. “I have a bike. It’s good but needs a tune up...maybe I can come see you?” 

Keith cringed at the words coming out of his mouth. The first thing he says and he asks for a favor? Foolish. 

Kolivan smiled. “Better yet, I’ll teach you how to do it yourself if you’re interested. Your mother says you’re very smart.” 

“Oh, well,” Keith spluttered. “If it’s not too much…” 

“It’s the least I could do for how friendly you’ve been.” 

Keith knew that was a lie, but took the compliment anyway, not wanting to make anything close to a scene, and felt Kolivan’s words roll off of him. 

Krolia smiled at Keith again, and he could swear he could see a glint of mist in her eyes. 

\---

Keith lay his head against Shiro’s chest, both of them sweating in Shiro’s apartment despite the air conditioner. The heat was oppressive, but they sat together anyway, each of them shifting closer to the other as the minutes passed. He could hear Shiro’s heart, thudding lightly in his rib cage, his breathing even and strong. Something about the situation was comforting on a primal level, making Keith’s anxiety hum quieter, his skin less likely to prickle with suspicion that something had gone wrong. 

Shiro ran his hand through Keith’s hair, petting him lightly. 

Keith had already regaled him with the tale of meeting Kolivan, but he was still thinking about it. A certain something swirled inside him - a kind of bravery he had long forgotten he possessed. It egged him on, made him ask himself why he wasn’t pushing himself in every aspect of his life - if he could put aside his reservations for his mother’s boyfriend, why not try something else? 

Keith looked up at Shiro’s face, catching him in a candid moment, as Shiro’s eyes were on the TV in front of them. Keith had long since stopped paying attention, instead lost in thought about what he might do with this newfound reminder that coming out of his shell wasn’t so bad, afterall. 

Keith inched upwards and planted a kiss to the base of Shiro’s jaw, making him jump ever so slightly. 

“Hi, baby.” 

“I’m not paying attention to the movie any more,” Keith said, his voice pitched low on purpose. 

Shiro looked down at him, his eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “Is that so?” 

Keith shoved himself harder into Shiro’s side, absorbing his warmth like a cat. “Maybe we can…?” He let his voice trail off, allowing Shiro to fill in the blank. 

Shiro stood up so fast Keith fell into the couch, not ready to support himself. Shiro laughed and offered him his hand, pulling Keith up to his feet. 

“You’re sure?” Shiro asked, a tinge to his voice. 

Keith nodded, feeling his heart pound in excitement. 

Shiro turned and walked to his bedroom, Keith following. Shiro’s bedroom was small (Keith knew he had given his daughter the larger of the two) but it wasn’t cramped. White walls were covered in a few paintings and photographs in between a large wardrobe and a writing desk. On the desk sat Shiro’s laptop and a framed photo of him and his daughter, cropped awkwardly, making Keith think someone else had originally been included. A shadow box of medals hung above his bed. 

Shiro sat on his bed, rumpling his slate-gray comforter and opened his arms to welcome Keith. They fell together onto the bed, giggling into their kisses. Keith could already feel the tension running through Shiro, sparking something low in his own stomach to match. 

His mind flashed to the last time he had fallen into bed with someone, but he pushed the memories aside and focused on the man underneath him. Shiro wiggled and pulled his shirt off, yanking it one-handed over his head and exposing his broad and beautiful chest, marred slightly with scars across his pecs and around the spot where his prosthetic connected with his arm. He was the most beautiful man Keith thought he would ever lay his eyes on. Butterflies filled Keith’s body, not just his stomach. He tingled all over, antsy and electric. 

Suddenly, the world turned and Keith was the one on his back, blinking upwards at Shiro, hanging over him. The light caught Shiro’s hair, framing him like some kind of halo. Keith’s breath escaped him but Shiro grinned, his smile sly. 

“Your turn, baby.” 

Keith scrambled to pull his shirt off, tossing it aside, but his hands went protectively to his chest, as if his arm’s natural position was wrapped around himself. The electricity in the room amped up, humming like bees in Keith’s head, swirling around his thoughts and making him dizzy. 

Shiro reached down, taking Keith’s hands lightly in his own, barely pressing. He guided Keith’s hands apart, revealing his skin.

Something jumped into Keith’s throat and clung hard, not leaving even when he tried to clear it. 

Shiro’s expression changed. “Are you okay…? 

The sudden vulnerability sucker punched Keith, his throat closing for the millionth time in the past week. Something scratched and pulled its way out of Keith’s chest and into his mouth, his words dribbling out of him pathetically. His stomach lurched and his breath picked up even as he tried to speak, but he choked on his words. 

Feeling like a fish yanked from water, Keith gasped for breath, unable to fight the feeling of panic rising in his chest. Confused, he closed his eyes and willed it all away. 

Embarrassment clouded his mind more so than the humming when Shiro got off of him and held him close, their skin pressing together, sticky from the heat but not the sex. 

“Sorry, just ignore it…,” he whispered, kicking himself for ruining the mood. 

Shiro leaned off the bed and picked up Keith’s shirt off of the floor, handing it to him without words. The fabric, rumpled and black, looked shameful in Keith’s hands, reminding him of what he was too scared to do. 

“Sorry,” Keith mumbled. 

Shiro leaned back, freeing Keith and giving him the space to put his shirt back on. Keith was grateful for the breathing room, taking in not-so-subtle deep breaths as his pulse continued to race, every pulse point beating, telegraphing his panic even more so than his face. 

“Hey, baby, don’t be sorry. We can do this differently or not at all.” 

“I don’t know what happened.” 

Shiro shifted, sliding into Keith’s space a fraction of an inch. He wrapped his arms around Keith’s shoulders, holding him in the same way he had been on the couch, but the feeling in the bedroom was less electric, more suffocating, and Keith hated himself for it. 

“You don’t have to be brave in the bedroom, Keith.” 

The way Shiro said Keith’s name broke him down even further. 

“I don’t know. The last time wasn’t...great. And I got pregnant. But it was so long ago…”

Shiro hugged him, squeezing his shoulders. “Trying to prove something isn’t a good reason to have sex.” 

Keith closed his eyes and sighed, his energy escaping him. “Yeah, well. I did want to, I guess I just, I dunno, got freaked out or something.” 

Shiro planted a kiss on his head. “We can try again some other time.” 

A sigh escaped Keith’s lips. “Yeah.” 

Later, when he pulled his bike into the driveway of his house, Keith sat on it and rested his head against the handlebars, wanting nothing more than to lay down on the pavement and have someone run over him. He could feel humiliation radiate off of him like a bad sunburn, and he knew his mother would ask about it once he walked inside.

With a sigh he stood, muscles aching less from the drive and more from embarrassment turned physical. 

He walked inside with his head hung, hoping to avoid any staring eyes from his mother, and ran upstairs to his room. He was sure his footsteps would get him found out, but instead of being caught by his mother a much smaller pair of eyes grabbed him away from any hope of solitude. 

“Papa!” Thomas called, sticking his head out of his bedroom. His face was bright and cheery despite the late hour. Keith groaned inwardly knowing he would be a nightmare to get to sleep, not wanting to prolong his own night. He wanted sleep, his eyes heavy already, but he put a smile on his face, feigning casualness. 

“Hi, kiddo.” 

Thomas beckoned him into his room and closed the door behind them, putting his finger to his lips. 

Keith raised his eyebrows but stayed quiet, playing along, unsure of where this was going, but not wanting to accuse Thomas of trouble-making quite yet. He was annoyed, but he could do that, at least. 

“I know a secret!” Thomas half-whispered, his little hands flailing as he talked. 

Keith sat on Thomas’s bed, putting them closer to eye level with each other. “Yeah? What’s that?” 

“Grandma,” he gasped, “has a boyfriend!” 

Keith gave a soft laugh, but didn’t feel very joyful. His annoyance deepened, not wanting to deal with this right now. 

“Papa,” Thomas whined. “Don’t laugh! It’s gross. I saw them kissing!” 

“Why is that gross, Thomas? Kissing is natural. If Grandma wants-” 

Thomas stomped his foot, angry. “No, it’s gross! I don’t like it!” 

“Well you don’t have to kiss anyone, so don’t worry about it.” 

Thomas turned away from Keith and angrily sat on the floor, a bit like a tantrum-throwing toddler. But before Keith could open his mouth to scold his son, Thomas kept speaking. 

“You don’t get it.” 

Keith sighed and got up from Thomas’s bed, hearing it squeak as he stood. He picked his son up, hauling him off the floor, vaguely shocked at how heavy he was these days - growing taller every second - and sat back down with Thomas wiggling in his lap. 

“What’s really the problem, Thomas? What’s wrong with Grandma having a boyfriend?” 

Thomas shoved his head into Keith’s chest, pouting for real. His voice was quiet when he spoke, making Keith lean in to hear it. 

“She’s gone all the time.” 

Keith squeezed his son, not sure what to say as his heart clenched. 

\---

The next time Keith saw Shiro, they were in the back of Shiro’s apartment, in a makeshift greenhouse. 

“Landlord told me nothing permanent so it’s ready to fall down at any time. But I like it.” 

Keith hummed his approval, running his hands along the dirty wood shelves upon which Shiro had placed pots of succulents, flowers, and herbs. None of the wood planks matched and most of them had old paint, or stickers, or scratches decorating their surfaces. A few nailed stuck out begging to be hammered in or pried off. But despite the shabby state, Shiro clearly loved his creation. 

The greenhouse - or, really, a shed with some glass in the roof - could barely fit both of them. If Shiro’s apartment was practically Antarctica compared to this place. Sweat ran down Keith’s neck, matting his hair down until he was regretting not having his usual hair tie on his wrist. He scratched at it, as if he could make the elastic appear through magic. 

“I never really pictured you as a plant guy,” Keith said, looking around at the blooms - picks and reds like a sunset nestled in between dusty gray and blue wood planks and bars. 

Shiro laughed. “I have many interests, baby.” 

Keith smiled at the nickname, his love for Shiro swooping through his belly. 

He leaned in close and Kissed Shiro on the mouth, enjoying the taste of Shiro’s mouth and the smell of his deodorant in ways he knew he would never have the confidence to speak aloud. 

Shiro wrapped his sweaty arms around Keith’s middle and kissed him hard enough to bend him backwards. A strangled moan escaped Keith and they made out in the greenhouse shed.Keith’s frustration at himself ran as deep as his lust for Shiro’s embrace - hot like the Summer air, engulfing like the shed they writhed together in. 

When Shiro’s knee found its way between Keith’s legs he let them part, allowing Shiro to get closer than ever before. He pressed down, gasping as just the friction of his pants spiked points of pleasure. He felt sweet and thick like bad wine, pressed between Shiro and the shelves of his greenhouse. A plant or two clattered behind him, shoved against the walls and Shiro pinned him. The Summer’s tension was wearing on them both, he could tell. 

Keith wrapped his arms around Shiro’s neck and ignored the alarm bells ringing in his head. Maybe he could do it here, outside a bedroom, or with his clothes on. Maybe some distance would let it be possible, could quench the thirst inside him. 

Shiro huffed a question in Keith’s ear but he barely heard it, too focused on the sound of his own breathing, making sure it was even and pleasant to listen to. He was glad his hammering heart would be read as sex and energy. He prayed his internal questions would be read as beauty. 

Keith let Shiro open up his pants and jam a hand down the front of his jeans, scraping through his unruly pubic hair and finding his center, hot and wet like the rest of him. 

But just the smallest rub sent equal parts pleasure and pain through Keith and he gasped, suddenly unsure if he could keep his temper in check. Nervousness coursed through him and a horrible voice rang through his head,  _ what will happen this time? _

Keith broke away from the kiss and practically fell out of the shed, leaving the sweaty heat behind. As he scrambled to right himself and zip his pants, a cool summer breeze blew around him, dropping his temperature like ice in a coffee. The clarity of the day washed away any confusion he might have had. Suddenly, things were clear to him. He just wasn’t cut out for it. 

He gulped in the air until Shiro emerged behind him, putting his hand on Keith’s shoulder. 

Shiro’s face was a frown, something dark and pained in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, Keith, I didn’t mean to-,” he began, before Keith waved his hand in Shiro’s face, shutting him up. 

“It’s not you, it’s me.” 

\---

As the summer wore on, Keith did his best to balance his time between Shiro and his son, and his business and duties to help provide for his home. But even on his best days he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going wrong. His blood thrummed with Summer energy but he had no outlet, racing, cooking, loving, kissing not taking the edge off. But any time he approached that cliff with Shiro, he shut down, swallowing his shame as easily and as often as he breathed. 

Shiro was careful with his touches, only ever holding Keith’s hand or throwing his arm around Keith’s shoulders. Their kisses were gentle, even when Keith pressed himself into Shiro, silently asking for more, only to feel Shiro pull away. Shiro still talked to him about his day, his thoughts, and opinions, still shared the occasional picture of his daughter. Keith tried to tell himself that he was reading into things, but the changes were too obvious not to acknowledge. 

In his home, Thomas had become surly. He was more likely to throw fits and complain than ever no matter how Keith tries to sooth him. Motivated by his own childhood Keith made efforts to speak to his son every day about his feelings - both learning about Thomas’s and sharing his own - but still, Thomas complained about things he had previously enjoyed, like going to Krolia’s classes, or hanging out at Keith’s tattoo shop when he had clients. 

Keith wasn’t sure what he was going to do about both of his problems. He mulled them over with wine, or at sunrise as he made breakfast in the quiet of his house. 

But at the end of August, his decision was made for him. 

Standing in the doorway to Hunk’s home, picking up Thomas from another baking lesson, Hunk approached him with an awkward expression. 

“So, you and Shiro are still…?” He asked, hand on the back of his neck, a pose so like Shiro Keith was thrown for a second. 

His skin pricked with goosebumps as he answered, anticipatory. “Yeah?” 

“So you know I’m kinda friendly with Curtis, right? Since we were in the same-” 

“Yeah, Hunk, get to the point.” 

Hunk shifted from one foot to the other. “Yesterday he was talking about how he and Shiro are getting back together.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you are enjoying this little story please leave a comment or kudos, it really helps me! 
> 
> Follow me on twitter @softiewrites
> 
> Thank you for betaing, @voxane


	4. Autumn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith deals with the aftermath of the breakup, and asks his mother a few good questions.

The sun rose and Keith awoke, but didn’t move. He stared out the window, watching the sky turn from black, to purple, to blue. He listened as the birds started singing and cars started driving by on the North road. The hum of life vibrated around him, but he stayed in bed. 

He lay on his stomach, tangled in his burgundy comforter , for the second weekend in a row, writing and deleting messages to Shiro. He didn’t know what to say or where to start. The last message, from three days ago, was from Shiro, a request for Keith to call him when he was available. Keith stared at it, it’s letters blurring together into a stomach-jumbling mess. 

Somehow, it felt like reality had snapped back into place like a rubber band. He was wincing at the pain and chastising himself for being reckless. 

Keith supposed he had been trying to fit too many puzzles together, borrowing pieces from other boxes and expecting them to fit together. Even when they did fit, they were the wrong image. Keith’s little family portrait had become confused, too cluttered. Without Shiro, maybe he could go back to how everything used to be. Quiet. Simple. Routine. 

Yes, that was what Keith knew he needed. He looked up at the ceiling, tracing the faint paint lines with his eyes and breathed, finally realizing that his sadness was just reality setting in, that all he needed to do was remind himself he had always been better off as a lone wolf. Solitude was a blanket, comforting him. 

As he wondered about himself, a knock came from his doorway, followed by light footsteps. 

“Papa?” Thomas’s voice was small, curious. Keith poked his head out from under his blankets, but didn’t have it in himself to smile. 

“Are you sick?” Thomas asked with a frown and a crease between his eyebrows. 

Keith frowned, a swirl of guilt running through his stomach for making his son worry. 

“No, kiddo. Just napping.” 

Thomas put his hands on his hips. “Don’t lie to me.” He walked away and went down the stairs, his footsteps echoing. 

Keith pulled himself upright, shaking his head at himself. Moping in bed on the weekend when his son probably wanted to play or go somewhere wasn’t helping anyone, no matter how bad he wanted to lick his wounds. It was the beginning of September and out in the desert the weather was pleasantly cool. 

Keith hauled himself out of bed despite the cotton that filled his head, tugged on some shorts and a fresh shirt, readying himself to go downstairs and ask his son if he wanted to go out when Thomas came back up the stairs. He practically ran up them based on the rapidity of his footsteps, thumping against the wood. 

“Papa, I made you a sammich,” he said, smiling brightly. “Go back to bed and eat.” 

Keith’s mouth fell open, a little shocked, as Thomas walked into his room and gently pushed him over, his little hands strong enough to nudge him back to bed. 

“I told you-” 

“And I told you not to tell lies, Papa. You make me sammiches when I feel bad, so I made you one. It’s peanut butter and jelly.” 

Keith’s smile wasn’t forced this time, but it was still sad, something new unsettling in his heart. 

“Oh, Thomas, you don’t have to take care of me.” He could hear just how much he sounded like his own mother, but he also knew there was a big difference between him taking care of her, and Thomas taking care of him. 

Thomas set the sandwich down on Keith’s bedside table and rolled his eyes. “Papa! You say be nice to people when they feel bad. So, duh, I’m being nice to you.” 

Keith pursed his lips, half amused and half touched, before giving Thomas half of the sandwich. 

“Eat and maybe we can go to the park and play soccer.” 

Thomas shoved his half of the sandwich in his mouth, eyes lighting up at the prospect of his favorite pastime. 

\---

In the afternoon the park was packed with parents and their kids enjoying the weekend together. Keith and Thomas passed a few birthday parties, couples with strollers, and an uncountable number of kids on bikes or roller blades, skating around and screaming at each other. For a moment the idea of having another child ran wild through his head, but he couldn’t do anything but laugh at himself. His family was whole despite its size. 

Before Krolia had found them, Keith’s family was just Thomas. They lived together in a studio apartment that was crumbling away, the occasional mouse or bug skittering along the floor. Keith had known nothing but panic and stress back then, especially when Thomas was too small to walk, or crawl, or talk. Living in a cold, gray box with a newborn had been the only time Keith had really wondered if he had made the right choice about bringing Thomas into the world. 

But then Krolia showed up and brought them home, into her house on the outskirts of Tehachapi. Her spare rooms - a painting studio and a home gym - were converted quickly into two more bedrooms, and it was there that Keith’s family puzzle had been put together in it’s entirety. 

Having his mother around had shaken Keith to his core. At first he didn’t trust her, he doubted the love she professed, but her steady presence converted him to a believer in no time. 

Maybe he had been too eager to trust in Shiro. Maybe he had forgotten what it meant to open up to someone - to be vulnerable was to be hurt. 

And now, of course, he was hurting. He couldn’t deny that looking at happy couples with their children didn’t make him bitter, didn’t make him wonder what was so wrong with his personality that no one ever became attached. That hurt burned him, left him stiff and aching, just like the scar on his face. 

But, then again, he knew he needed to deal with it. Move on. Swim against the tide. 

He sighed, sucking in a cool breath and reorienting himself. Thomas was hollering about something, running after the soccer ball they were kicking back and forth. His cheeks were pink with exertion and his smile was wide, his whole face lit up. Keith couldn’t help but smile back, Thomas always the pinprick of joy in his life. 

When Thomas ran out of steam, Keith got them both ice cream, plopping them down on a bench so they could eat in peace, away from the other kids. 

Thomas, panting loudly and showing off a slight sunburn despite Keith’s vigilant re-applying of sunscreen, stared at Keith as they ate. 

Keith raised his eyebrows, prompting. “Yes?” 

Thomas swallowed his ice cream, dramatically shuddering at the cold. “Are Grandma and her boyfriend gonna get married?” 

Keith laughed, not expecting  _ that _ question. “I don’t know, bud. I don’t think they’ve been dating long enough to make that decision.” 

“How long do you gotta date for?” 

“I would say...at least two years.” 

Thomas took another bite of his ice cream, shuddering. “That’s a long time.” 

“Well, when you’re big it doesn’t feel that long.” 

Thomas hummed a non committal answer, but his face said he was still thinking about things. Keith didn’t pry, instead choosing to let him mull over whatever he needed. 

Eventually, long after the ice cream had run out, Thomas opened his mouth again. 

“Will you ever get a...boyfriend like Grandma?” He paused before saying ‘boyfriend’, as if he was a little unsure about what gender to pick. 

Keith sighed. He knew this conversation would come, but he didn’t need it today of all days, when he was actively avoiding being formally broken up with. He sent a mental curse to the universe. But instead of brushing Thomas off, he knew he had to be honest. 

“Well, Thomas, I don’t know. Dating takes a lot of time. I think I would rather spend that time being your pop.” 

Thomas frowned. “But Grandma is still your mom, right?” 

“Of course she is. I mean, I’d rather spend time with you.” 

Thomas thought about it for a second before smiling. “Good. I don’t want you to date.” 

Keith smiled. Somehow, hearing Thomas say it out loud reassured him that he was making the right choice. It was a comfort to go back to routine, back to what he knew best and let the pieces of his heart lie where they fell. 

\---

Autumn brought many things. Thomas went back to school, Krolia became busier with her own classes at the community college, and Keith’s work picked up ever so slightly. People wanting to escape the dreary weather by doing something spontaneous was always a boon to Keith. He kept his flash book thick and full of variety for just this reason. Most notably, Shiro stopped calling.

The absence of Shiro’s warmth was gaping but Keith refused to let it bother him. He refused to care, to admit that he was still in love with someone who he hadn’t spoken to in a month and a half, someone who left him for his ex, someone who he never should have trusted all along. 

\---

Keith stood outside of Kolivan’s garage, staring down at the door. The garage was gray and purple, the pavement surrounding it crumbling in places, the windows dirty and fogged despite the faint lights behind the panes of glass. It was propped open with a paint can, enticing him in despite the lead in his shoes. Keith wasn’t sure if coming here was a good idea anymore, his anxiety spiking. 

The sun was low on the horizon, and the air around him was quickly cooling as the day’s light faded away. Keith shivered and wished he had brought his jacket. It was the cold that pushed him inside - he clenched his teeth together against the chill and started walking forward, his steps feeling heavier the more he took them. 

As he approached, the sounds of the garage became more apparent - grunts and groans, metal hitting concrete, a fuzzy radio belting out the score of a football game. The air smelled like oil and steel but something about it was familiar to Keith. Memories of hanging out in his military school’s garage came back to him - he was never good enough to touch an engine, but he sure liked to race them. 

As he stepped inside the front door of the garage, he caught the eye of a man sitting at an improvised front desk - an old wooden thing, covered in fliers with curled edges, grease stains, and an ancient computer. 

“Sorry man, we’re closed,” he called, not looking up from his smartphone. 

“Uh,” Keith started. “I need to see Kolivan. He knows me.” 

The man at the desk lifted an eyebrow but didn’t look up to meet Keith’s gaze. 

“Who are you?” 

“Uh,” Keith stutered again. “I’m Keith. Kolivan is, uh, dating my mom?” 

The man looked up finally, a mirthful smile playing at his lips. He spun around in his chair and sauntered off, leaving Keith alone and feeling awkward. He clasped his hands in front of himself before eventually reaching for his phone until he remembered there were no longer messages for him to answer on it. He slid his phone back into his back pocket, uncomfortably conscious of its presence. 

Two pairs of footsteps began to echo through the garage, over the football game on the radio, before Kolivan and the man from the front desk reappeared. Kolivan clapped the man on the back and stepped away, walking towards Keith. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

Keith fidgeted, taking in Kolivan’s form before answering. The man was large - intimidatingly large - and the sleeves of his coveralls were tied around his waist, revealing just how muscular his arms were in his white and oil-stained tank top. 

“You said I could bring my bike here, and it’s, uh, here. Outside. But I didn’t realize you were closed, so I can leave.” He could barely make eye contact with Kolivan, something coming over him and forcing him to look at some spot above Kolivan’s left ear. 

Kolivan chuckled, deep and vibrating. 

“It’s no problem, Keith. Show me the bike.” 

Keith spun and power walked out of the garage, catching a breath he didn’t know he had lost. 

His bike was parked outside, mud covering most of its red paint. The old girl had started sputtering as he drove it about a week before and though Keith had tried, he wasn’t able to figure out what the problem was. The bike had been mostly hodge-podged together, old parts picked up from junkyards and brought to mechanics he had never formed a relationship with, who probably over charged him as much as they under serviced him. 

Keith stood back as Kolivan crouched and looked at the bike - examining it slowly, carefully, without so much as a single tool, just his eyes and fingers. 

“It’s your carburetor. Just needs to be cleaned, “ Kolivan said as he pointed out what the issue was. 

Keith blushed slightly - he wasn’t an expert by any means but he knew enough to understand that was a common and beginner-friendly issue, meaning he should have spotted and fixed it himself. 

“Oh, wow, I should have figured that one out. Thank you mis-- uh, Kolivan.” 

Kolivan stood and stretched. “It’s no problem. Let me fix it for you.” 

Kolivan put his hands on the handlebars of Keith’s bike and began to wheel it towards the open garage door of the shop before Keith could protest. He jogged after Kolivan, trying to keep up with his long stride. 

“No, I can clean it when I get home. I know how to do that, at least.” 

Kolivan didn’t turn, but chuckled and kept walking. “It’s no problem, Keith.” 

Keith bit his lip but didn’t protest any further, instead standing awkwardly as he watched Kolivan get to work. 

Keith’s bike became disjointed in front of him. Pieces of the engine sat carefully on the floor as Kolivan prepared his tools and solutions to Keith’s minor problem. The other employees of the garage occasionally threw them questioning looks, as if wondering why their boss would stay past closing to help someone, even if they knew each other. 

“So,” Kolivan started, breaking Keith’s concentration on their observers. “How are you doing?” 

Keith felt his tongue dry up before he could answer, like his mouth was filling with cotton. 

“I’m fine.” 

Kolivan lifted his face from the engine of the bike and looked Keith dead in the eyes, his look dark and piercing enough to send a shudder down Keith’s shoulders. 

“That’s good to hear.” 

It was clear his tone was non-believing. Keith shifted his weight from one foot to the other before deciding to continue. 

“Just busy. Thomas is in school again and the shop is busy...nothing exciting, really.” 

Kolivan lowered his head and began working again. 

“Your mother says you’re seeing someone.” His tone was light, but his curiosity was obvious, leaving Keith feeling a bit like a specimen. Though, he figured, maybe Kolivan really was just trying to get to know him, and he was reading into the situation too far. 

He went tomato red anyway. “Oh. Uh. No, not anymore.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Keith. Apologies for prying.” His tone was calming. Even while apologizing there was so little hint of emotion that he left Keith feeling curious about how he controlled himself so well. 

Keith waved his hands even though Kolivan couldn’t see him. “It’s fine. I know my mom talks about me. I can’t be mad about it.” 

Kolivan laughed. “She sure does. But that’s one of the reasons I love her. She’s honest about her priorities.” 

Keith’s redness faded to pale, and he shivered in the breeze that snuck in through the open garage door. 

“You love her?” 

Kolivan smiled but didn’t raise his head. “I hope that’s alright with you.” 

Keith nodded before realizing Kolivan couldn’t see him. “I just want her to be happy. She deserves it after...everything.” 

Kolivan picked up the fragments of Keith’s engine and fitted it back into place, the sound of metal on metal ringing through the now-empty garage. He wiped oil on the pant legs of his coveralls and stood, stretching again. His spine popped loud enough for Keith to hear it and cringe. 

“I think she is. I aim to keep her that way.” 

Keith pulled his keys from his pocket and turned the bike’s engine over, listening to the rumble with a satisfied smile. 

“How much do I owe you?” 

It was Kolivan’s turn to wave his hands, shaking them in front of Keith’s face. “I told you I’d show you how. I hope you were paying attention.” His tone was bright and humorous, but Keith couldn’t help but squirm. 

“You’ll have to show me again some time.” 

Kolivan smiled and stuck out his right hand to shake Keith’s. His grip was warm and firm, steady and calming like the evening breeze. 

“It’s a promise.” 

Keith turned and walked his bike out of the garage, throwing his leg over it and settling into the seat as he yanked his helmet on, wincing as he tugged at some of his hair accidentally. Through the fiberglass and padding, he heard Kolivan call his name once more. 

“You deserve happiness, too, kid.” 

Keith revved his engine, ignoring the swimming feeling in his stomach, and peeled out of the parking lot, swinging himself into traffic and speeding down the road. The air flowed around him like a river, pushing up his sleeves and around his ankles where his pants didn’t quite meet his sneakers. 

He smiled, a little, and blew through a streetlight, hoping it hadn’t turned red. 

\---

Krolia walked into the living room with two plates of food stacked on one arm like a waitress, her other hand holding two open bottles of beer, a bitter one for him and a sweeter one for her. Keith looked up from his sketchbook and, catching her eye, closed it and sat back in his chair, stretching til his back realigned with a satisfying crunch. 

“Thank you, mom.” 

She hummed her acknowledgement and flipped the TV on low, bringing up  _ Antiques Roadshow _ . Keith found the show insufferable, but his mother liked old things, so they watched it frequently. 

Thomas was at a friend’s house for a birthday party - slash - sleepover, meaning the only noise in the house came from the television and the sound of their forks clicking on the plates as they ate. 

The silence was comfortable but pressing and Keith thought about Kolivan telling him that he loved Krolia. He wondered if his mother knew, if they whispered it to each other behind Keith’s back, if they were planning on spending the rest of their lives together. Keith tried to imagine it, attending his mother’s wedding, or Kolivan moving into their house, taking up space, eating the breakfasts that Keith liked to make at sunrise. 

Maybe Kolivan also awoke at sunrise. Maybe his quiet mornings were coming to an end. 

“Don’t think so hard, you’ll hurt yourself,” Krolia said as she put her fork into her mouth, laughing at her own joke as she ate. 

Keith rolled his eyes and waved his hand at his mother, knowing he couldn’t hide anything from her for long. 

“Seriously,” she continued, “What are you thinking about?” 

Keith chewed his food as he thought, mulling over the words in his head until he found a configuration that sounded the most polite. 

He took a swig of beer before speaking, enjoying how the first splash felt in his stomach. 

“Why’d you start dating Kolivan?” 

Krolia laughed, clearly not expecting that to be the thing that came out of Keith’s mouth. She leaned her head back and drank from her beer. Her hair splayed out on the back of the chair and she smiled, looking at the ceiling. Keith got the feeling that this wasn’t her first drink of the night. 

“I didn’t tell you, but I decided to go to grief therapy. We met there.” 

Keith leaned forward, getting closer to his mother. He sat his plate down on the glass-topped coffee table, the ceramic clinking against it. 

“When?” 

Krolia kept eating, talking with her mouth full. “I went about a year ago. Thomas turned seven, and I couldn’t help but think about how you were that age when your Pop died. It brought back a lot of feelings I thought I had dealt with.” 

Keith frowned, feeling somehow both guilty and surprised. “I’m sorry that you had to do all that.” 

“Oh, please.” Krolia said, brushing Keith’s apology off. “You don’t need to say sorry, nothing was your fault. And it was good for me. I finally felt like maybe I made peace with Tom’s death. Plus, I met Kolivan. I really like him.” 

Keith nodded, processing his mother’s words before answering. 

“Mom, I think you deserve all the happiness in the world. He obviously worships you. Not everyone gets that kind of love twice in one life.” 

Krolia smiled, her face taking on a dreamy expression before she looked back at Keith, some seriousness rising back to her face. 

“What about you? You’re not exactly texting like you used to. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” 

Keith looked away from his mother, staring into the kitchen just for something to look at that wasn’t her knowing face. Shame rose in his chest, embarrassed he couldn’t keep Shiro hidden, and double embarrassed to be telling his mother he had been broken up with. 

“He got back with his ex husband. It’s nothing, I’m not really surprised ‘cuz they have a daughter and everything.” 

Krolia smiled at him benevolently, in that way mothers do, like they still think they can kiss the pain away. 

“Sometimes we don’t like it, but change can be good. It’s up to us to decide whether or not we can accept it. I learned that in therapy,” she said with a smile.

Something about the quietness of the house got to Keith. He was painfully aware that it was just his mother and him, that there were no prying eyes or ears listening to Papa and Grandma. 

“I really liked him,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “But...yeah. Maybe change is good.” 

Krolia smiled at Keith, her face full of consolation. “You are such a good person, Keith. You’ll find love if you want it. And if you don’t, well, I’ll stop asking.” 

Keith looked down, stared at his meat and veggies, his beer that was collecting condensation by the second even though the autumn weather was as cool as the house. What he wanted to scream was,  _ “It was nice to be wanted.”  _ or  _ “I still love him.”  _ But he couldn’t admit it, not even to his mother. Not even as his chest cracked from the vulnerability of it all. 

“Is Kolivan gonna be my step dad?” He asked instead, spitting Krolia’s love life back into her face instead of addressing his own. 

Krolia lifted her head and focused her eyes on her son. 

“I don’t know. We haven’t been dating that long. But..I never got the chance to marry your father. I think I would like that opportunity, if I can be so selfish.” Her tone was somewhat guarded, as if she expected a fight to ensue. It was rare that they argued (these days) but they both knew when one was coming on. 

Keith pushed down the desire to match her, to raise the tension in the room. Instead he took a deep breath to re-center himself. 

“It’s just...it’s hard to picture my family changing.” That was the closest he could come to admitting he loved and lost someone of his own. He knew he wasn’t about to tell Krolia the intimate details of their relationship, or even the superficial ones. It wasn’t in the cards, at least tonight. 

Krolia nodded, understanding. “It’s hard for me, too, Keith. I’m scared, but I love him. I think he’s a good person. I think he would be a kind step father to you. And I know he wouldn’t ever try to replace your Pop. Tom would be rolling in his grave if that ever happened.” 

Keith shrugged and took a drink of his beer. 

“What’s the point of changing if we’re happy with what we got?” 

Krolia looked at him, a sadness in her eyes. “Keith...I’m not happy to be alone, romantically. I’m sorry.” 

Keith looked down, feeling like he was sucker punched. He bit his lip so hard he thought it might bleed before he could formulate a response to her. 

“I guess I shouldn’t assume anything, huh?” 

“It’s generally a bad move, kiddo,” she said, perfunctory. 

\---

As Autumn took hold of the Southwest desert, Keith turned cold from the inside out. Any leftover fire was stamped out as he embraced the change his mother spoke so highly about. Rolling with the punches was his M.O. anyway - he had long stopped running away from his problems. Now, as an adult, he dealt with them and moved on. 

The vacuum left behind by Shiro was filled with work, with Thomas, with his mother and her new relationship. Krolia has a tendency to have one too many drinks and start spilling her feelings these days, leaving them around the house for Keith to pick up on. He was happy for her and rolled with the jealousy he felt, dealing with it in uneasy silence. 

Maybe his day in the Sun would come around again, but he wasn’t chasing it any longer. There was just no point. 

Looking in the mirror he saw himself again - a quiet simmer in his eyes, no longer blazing hot. His dark circles reminded him of his normal life, his permanent frown no longer a confusing smile. A quiet chill was more home-like than any Summer fun. 

Still, Keith was calm, and even found himself smiling at the sunrise each morning again. This feeling enveloped him in a protective bubble, carrying him to his birthday. 

He had little interest in celebrating his twenty-seventh birthday but, as it fell on a Saturday, Hunk insisted. 

Keith found himself dragged out to St. Paddy’s again, just as uncomfortable as the last time he had been there. At least, he told himself, this time he didn’t have to put on a show for his mother’s benefit. He could be his usual self and his friends wouldn’t question it, knowing full well that almost nothing could bring him out of his shell. 

He sat at a table in the corner of the pub sipping his beer and watching his friends drink and be merry, like a voyeur. 

The music was loud, the lighting was bad, and his beer was good, so he allowed himself to indulge, if only for the night. Keith ordered himself guilty-pleasure food - chicken fingers and fries, something his son would eat - and drank his beer until a pleasant buzzing found its way into his veins. 

Hunk brought his new girlfriend, and Lance had managed to trick Allura into a date, so Keith watched them canoodle over cheesy fries. Matt and Pidge were shooting pool, doing increasingly impressive trick shots at one another. Acxa stood behind them, egging them on. The pub was crowded, though, and Keith sometimes lost his friends in the sea of strangers and waiters milling about, threading themselves through one another like a tapestry of communal drunkards. 

Eventually, though, he needed to get up and move, his energy thrumming through him enough to make him restless. Keith weaved his way through the crowd, going to the bar to order another drink. The alcohol warmed him, making him sweat. He pulled off his jacket but it wasn’t enough, and so he stepped outside for a breath of air. 

Outside the air was clear and cool, just warm enough to stop Keith from shivering. The gravel of the parking lot crunched under his boots as he walked to the side of the building to lean against and take a breather. 

When he got there, though, he recognized a certain car. 

Shiro’s black four-door was parked right next to his bike. 

Seeing it was like a shot to the heart. Panic started to build at Keith’s fingertips, his hands sweating, working its way through his body, overtaking any pleasant buzz he had before. 

Just as he turned to go back inside the pub to hide, he heard someone approach him from behind. Keith whipped around just to end up staring down one Takashi Shirogane, a deep frown on his face. 

Keith squeaked, “Shiro!

“Keith,” Shiro stared down Keith, putting his hands over his chest. 

“W-what are you doing here?” Keith could hear how shakey his voice was, how pathetic he was for trembling in front of the man who had broken up with him. 

“Hunk invited me. Said we needed to talk.” 

“I don’t think we do. We both know what happened.”  Defensiveness rose in him like a wave crescendoing, and he felt himself become ready to fight. Despite all his time thinking about how his life was better without Shiro’s puzzle pieces cluttering up his family picture, the jealousy of his mother’s successful relationship and the shame of being left behind still lingered. 

Shiro threw his hands up. “I don’t! You ghosted me!” Even at his most angry, Keith couldn’t deny he could hear how hurt Shiro was by his tone - high pitched and warbly. He was shocked - how could Shiro accuse him of anything. Keith knew he was the dumpee, not the dumper. 

“Yeah, well,” Keith muttered before gathering his strength and figuring out what to say . “You were going to break up with me! Hunk told me you and Curtis got back together,”  he shot, reflexively. 

Shiro’s brows knit together while his arms seemed to cross even tighter, tension radiating from his body. “You ghosted me...because Hunk told you I got back together with Curtis. And you didn’t think maybe you should have checked to see if that was true?” 

“Why would I need to check? It makes total sense. Abigail is probably so happy her dads are back together, and-” 

“Keith!” Shiro raised his voice, louder and more frustrated that Keith had even seen him. “I’m not back together with him! He broke it off with me, why would I go back to him?” 

Keith felt the air in his chest leave him, his body falling even harder against the side of the pub, his muscles giving out. Ice filled him as he realized what he had done - ruined the only good relationship he could have ever had, hurt someone he said he loved, all for nothing.  All that whining and crying about being happier alone, all for nothing, all based on a lie. 

The lines on Shiro’s face deepened as he kept speaking, like the energy to explain anything was leaving him. 

“Keith, you know, when we first met, you were throwing a party for a stranger. What happened to that guy? Or the guy who took me racing, and hiking, and out to dinner? Why did you give up on yourself like that?” 

Keith started, Shiro’s sentence not going where he thought it would.  _ “Give up on myself?  _ What the fuck is that supposed to mean? _ ” _

Shiro shook his head. “It was pretty obvious that you were scared. I’m not an idiot, Keith. You heard one thing and just bounced, you didn’t even ask. Were you relieved it was over?” 

“I’m sorry, Shiro.” Keith mumbled, sliding down the wall until his butt hit the gravel. 

“Yeah, I am too.” 

With that, Shiro turned and walked to the front door of the pub, disappearing inside. 

The gravel dug into Keith’s ass as he sat in the cool Autumn air, processing the conversation that had just happened. Was Shiro right? Had he given up on himself? His first instinct was to say no, that wasn’t correct, but Shiro’s words lingered in his head as he sat, ringing louder and truer as the minutes passed. 

If he had just asked Shiro the truth things would be different. Why couldn’t he have believed in Shiro at all - he had never once spoken about love lost between himself and Curtis, yet when the idea was presented, Keith caved. 

“Why am I like this?” He muttered aloud. 

Above him, the stars twinkled against the blue-black evening sky. Cars drove by him, uncaring. His solitude was his own little world as he sat against the side of the pub. His party was inside, his friends, his food, his good mood, and here he was sat on the ground trying not to cry over the biggest fuck up he’d made since joining military school. 

The pressure in the back of his head wasn’t just from the wood of the pub. Frustration built up inside him, piled on top of years of old-time resentment. Frustration at himself, his life, his choices. No matter how much he lied to himself, in the back of his head he knew he wasn’t fine. 

Keith stood, shocking even himself. His body moved without him thinking, taking him inside the pub on swift, frantic legs. 

He made a beeline through the crowd, ducking and weaving like a football player heading towards his end zone. He ran up on Shiro, grabbing his hand and yanking him outside again, pulling him away from the conversation he was having with Hunk. Keith hoped he was admonishing him but he couldn’t focus on that, not when he knew, finally, what he had to do. 

He shoved Shiro against the side of the building, in a reverse of their first position. 

“Fuck you, Shiro.” 

“What-”

Keith crossed his arms and stared up at him. “I’m serious. Fuck you for just knowing everything and getting into my head like that. It’s hard for me to trust people, you know that.” 

Shiro shook his head. “Exactly, Keith. You know it’s hard for you to trust people, too, so why don’t you work on trusting yourself? If you really liked me you could have trusted those feelings, you could have called me.” 

“Shiro, I don’t like you. I love you!” The words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them, falling to the ground like meteors in the night. 

This time, it was Shiro’s turn to look stunned, his mouth opening up in a way that should have made him ugly. 

“I love you and it’s really freaking me out! Even after we stopped talking I still love you. And you just show up here, chasing me, why? Explain that.” 

Shiro pulled himself away from the wall and stepped in towards Keith. 

“Because I wanted an explanation. I wanted to hear you say it was over from your own mouth.” 

“Well,” Keith spat. “Sorry I can’t give you that.” 

Shiro stepped in again, closing the gap until they were almost touching, closer than any normal conversation. 

“Look me in the eye and promise me you’re telling the truth.” 

Keith stared upwards, fire brewing behind his eyes. He prayed to God Shiro believed his expression. 

“Shiro I’m sorry I fucked this all up, but I do love you.” 

Admitting it made Keith’s pulse race. He felt lightheaded, as if something physical had been pulled out of him, altering his body in a permanent way. 

Shiro closed the space between them in totality, tilting Keith’s head up with his hand and kissing him fiercely and making their teeth clack. He moved his hands to Keith’s back, squeezing him in tight. Keith sighed into the kiss, feeling something new explode inside his head. When Shiro pulled away Keith realized his eyes were wet, but this time around it was different than crying in Shiro’s bed. 

This time, Keith released his frustration, laughing as he cried in Shiro’s arms, no doubt confusing the poor man. To Shiro’s credit though, he held Keith tight, swaying back and forth to the faint music coming from inside St. Paddy’s. 

Shiro put his chin on Keith’s head, resting it there for a moment while he spoke. 

“I’m glad you told me, baby.” 

Keith extracted himself, looking upwards at Shiro again. “Why are you even giving me this chance?” 

Shiro smiled. “I love you, too. But you gotta promise me you’re gonna talk to me if we really do this again.” 

Keith looked up at Shiro, feeling admonished. The thought back to the Summer and the Fall, to how Shiro made him feel, to how easily he cut Shiro off at the first sign of trouble. 

“It’s not easy for me.” 

Shiro met his eyes with a ferocity, but his tone was gentle. “It’s not easy for anyone, Keith. It’s not easy for me. But we gotta do the things that frighten us, sometimes. You know, if you want.” 

Keith looked away, uncomfortable with Shiro’s gaze. Instead, he leaned his head into Shiro’s chest and listened to his heart  _ thump-thump _ inside his chest. Shiro radiated a warm, steady energy like a heater. Keith realized if he stayed there too long, he would get burned. But it’s not as if he was trapped. He pulled away from Shiro ever so slightly, letting cool air rush between them, calming Keith’s own racing heart until he was ready to try again. 

“I want to try, if you’ll have me. As many times as you’ll let me try.” 

Shiro smiled and kissed the top of Keith’s head. “We can try.” 

Keith rolled his eyes, his fist gently tapping Shiro on the chest. 

“You’re so lame, old timer.” 

“Even so, do you wanna ditch the party?” 

Keith laughed, a few remaining tears escaping his eyes. Joy overwhelmed him. He realized, standing in the parking lot of a run down pub, he hadn’t been drowning his emotions, he’d been drowning himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi yall, thanks for reading again!! If you like please leave a kudos or comment, as it helps me gauge how the story's doing!
> 
> I'm thinking about writing a prequel to this about Keith and Krolia meeting and figuring out their relationship. If that sounds interesting, let me know! 
> 
> You can follow me on twitter at @softiewrites 
> 
> thank you to @voxane for beta-ing!!!


	5. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith visits Kerberos. Shiro opens up.

Though the Autumn had been cool, the Winter was balmy. The early morning sun of December warmed Keith’s room gently, but persistently, until he was sweating under his red blanket. Though, he supposed, the sweating might have been more “nerves” than “heat”.

When his alarm went off - a harsh beeping that shocked him from his thoughts - he jogged downstairs as quietly as he could, buzzing like he’d had a beer. He went through his usual morning routine - making himself breakfast, checking the news, brewing coffee, waking up his mother and son - barely able to hide his smile. 

“Papa…,” Thomas yawned, rubbing his eyes as he clambered up to the kitchen table. “S’too early.” 

Keith put bacon and chocolate chip waffles in front of his son, knowing he would stop complaining when presented with food, no matter how shoddily made. It was a Kogane family trait. 

“We’re going on a little trip today. You can sleep in the car, kiddo.” 

Thomas turned to look at Keith, suddenly not looking so tired. “Where are we going?” His excitement bubbling over immediately, eyes wide, chocolate on his mouth going unnoticed. 

“The planetarium. We’re gonna touch moon rocks!” 

Thomas turned back to his plate and started shoveling the food down, thanking Keith in between bites. 

\---

Keith drove about two hours to the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles while Thomas slept in the back seat, his head lolling as the car turned corners or stopped at red lights. Keith’s anxiety about his little plan was momentarily forgotten as Thomas yawned and stretched, reminding him suddenly of how he was as an infant. Small, curious, trusting of even strangers. Upon their reunion, Thomas trusted Krolia much faster than Keith did. Though, he supposed, that came with the territory of innocence. 

The observatory was on the top of a mountain but the drive was scenic; lush greenery, craggy rocks, wildflowers, and trees surrounded the car as they ascended, before finding level ground again. The wild forest had been cleared until a perfectly manicured lawn sat in front of the observatory, where families were already milling about. 

Keith woke Thomas up with a jostle of his leg, letting him gather his bearings as Keith maneuvered the parking lot. 

“Are we here?” he asked, turning his head left and right like he might see the stars outside during the day. 

Keith parked and gathered Thomas, holding his hand as they walked towards the massive, white building. The white stone was so perfectly maintained, and the Sun reflected off it so easily, Keith thought he might have been blinded just looking at it. Thomas pulled ahead, dragging Keith towards it’s great stone walls, through the ticket line and into the ornate lobby. But before he could run off into the exhibitions, Keith pulled him back, making him stop. 

“We’re going to wait for a friend of mine, Thomas. Hold on a sec.” 

Thomas pouted, his lip sticking out for dramatic effect. Keith ignored him but held his hand tight, knowing Thomas had a penchant for “exploring” as he would call it, “giving papa a heart attack” as Keith would. 

Luckily, Shiro towered over the crowd. Even if he didn’t, his white hair would have been a dead give away. What surprised Keith, though, was the little girl holding Shiro’s hand. Her hair was tousled, falling like a golden cloud around her shoulders. One hand was in Shiro’s and the other was holding a stuffed black cat, it’s tail dragging on the ground. As far as Keith knew, the plan was for Shiro and Thomas to meet, not for him and Abigail to meet, but he refused to let himself be rattled by it. 

“Hi, Keith,” Shiro said, giving him a one-armed hug. Keith had to resist the urge to lean up on his tippy-toes and give him a kiss. 

“And hello, Thomas. My name is Shiro, and this is my daughter Abigail,” he said with a smile, bending down so he and Thomas were at eye level. He steered Abigail around so they were looking at each other, but the girl quickly turned and buried her face in Shiro’s leg. 

Thomas looked confused, his eyebrows knitting together. “Hi,” he said curtly, more interested in looking at Abigail. 

Shiro straightened and addressed them as a group. “My daughter is pretty shy, but she’s very nice. She’ll come out of her shell by the end of the day. Now, who’s ready to touch rocks?” 

Thomas perked up, looking away from Abigail and pulling on Keith’s hand. 

Shiro became a guide without anyone asking him to do so. He led them through the observatory, going through each exhibit carefully, explaining the history of the stars, physics, geology, topics complex enough to make Keith’s head spin, but pared down and perfect for Thomas and Abigail, even though Keith got the notion she wasn’t listening very well. 

His voice was calm but commanding. Keith found himself transfixed, trailing behind Shiro and his son, so engaged in conversation and curiosity that Keith could have walked off and neither would notice. Something, though, made him feel that if he did walk away, he could trust that they would be alright without him. Maybe it was Abigail's hand in her father’s, as if the presence of the small, shy girl said something about Shiro. Maybe it was the open trust Thomas presented Shiro with. 

Keith watched as Thomas warmed up to Shiro, asking him questions and telling him facts that he knew, beaming as he was praised for how smart he was, how he was drawing the right conclusions when Shiro asked him questions. Shiro listened to every question and answered it without pause, impressing both Thomas and Keith for his understanding of the universe. 

Eventually Abigail silently asked to be carried, and Shiro didn’t break stride, putting his six year old on his hip, petting her hair, and smiling as he continued talking to Thomas. 

Keith let his eyes wander. The Observatory was enormous, vaulted ceilings surrounded them in an air of wonder that he wasn’t immune to, even as he kept half his mind on his son. He paused for a moment to observe a model of one of Pluto’s moons - Kerberos - struck, slightly, on how lonely it must be to be an isolated moon of an isolated planet. His eyes traced the thin, gleaming metal track that held it in orbit, intrusive thoughts telling him that he could break the connection with one hand. 

Instead, he stared at the other moons, trying to see a picture like a constellation, all the moons together in one group, or one family, surrounding Pluto like a halo of rock. 

Keith reached into his back pocket and grabbed his tiny notebook, one he carried around for the rare occasions he found inspiration. With a pen lifted off of one of the “interactive” tables and began sketching - one moon among many. 

Time stood still as he focused. The light streaming in from the Observatory skylights cast shadows that danced along the model of Pluto, along the floor, along his paper. The noise of the crowd melted into a hum, broken up only by the sketch of his pen on paper. His legs felt planted to the spot as he drew. 

As he brought Kerberos to life, he lost track of Shiro, Thomas, and Abigail. But he didn’t mind. Nothing scared him, trusting in Shiro’s parenting abilities to bring them together again once they were ready. 

And he did just that. Thomas’s hand found Keith’s arm one eternity later, when a picture of the entire universe was inked into multiple three by five pages. 

“Papa got lost daydreaming again,” Thomas said, pulling Keith back to the present. He felt a bit like when he would leave a dark movie theater and walk into the midday Sun - suddenly reminded about what was real again. 

After exploring for a good portion of the morning they found themselves in the food court, Thomas complaining that he was hungry, and Keith silently grateful to sit down, his back starting to hurt from all the walking. 

Thomas sat next to Keith and across from Shiro, still peppering him with questions. 

“Did you get to go to space?” he asked, mouth full of food court hot-dog. 

“Nope, unfortunately. But I flew all over the world.” Shiro pulled out his phone and gave it to Thomas. “There are a bunch of pictures of my planes and the places I went.” 

For the first time in hours, Thomas was quiet for a moment as he swiped through Shiro’s phone, eating up the pictures like candy. Even his lunch went abandoned. In the momentary reprieve, Shiro made eyes at Keith, his smile lighting up his eyes. Keith couldn’t help but smile back, feeling a carefree happiness wash over him. 

Shiro helped his daughter eat, trying to keep her focused now that Thomas was absorbed by the phone, and Keith couldn’t help but watch. Shiro, six-foot-four and muscular as hell, with a metal arm to boot, was gentle, light, patient with his little girl who still hadn’t said as much as a single word to anyone as far as Keith could tell. When she turned her head away from the food, Shiro offered her other items, letting her touch them first, put them in her mouth and spit them out. Keith tried not to stare, knowing Shiro probably got stares already for his arm, but he was curious about the scene in front of him and made a mental note to ask when they had a private moment. 

Eventually, though, they departed from the food court, Shiro holding Abigail on his hip and Keith once again taking Thomas’s hand, suspecting he would be even more energetic post-lunch. 

They made their way to the second floor of the observatory, this time going to the theater halls. Thomas fidgeted through the movies, clearly wanting to walk around more, but they made it through a few presentations before his restlessness was too strong. 

Shiro had the answer faster than Keith, though. “There’s not too much to see in the exhibit halls anymore, so how about we go out to the lawn and we can run around.” 

Thomas  _ whooped,  _ excited, knowing there was usually a soccer ball in the car for him to kick around. 

The lawn of the observatory was massive, nearly as big as the park back home. Thomas found a spot easily, claiming their grass as his territory, dribbling the soccer ball between his two feet. 

“You go on ahead, Thomas, I need to sit down,” Keith said, plopping himself down on the grass. 

Thomas stuck his tongue out but started kicking the ball and running after it, Keith’s eye never leaving him. Shiro sat down next to him, their hands overlapping. Abigail sat on Shiro’s lap, her head resting on his chest. 

“Can I ask?” 

Shiro pet his daughter’s head. “Curtis was reluctant to send her to a doctor but it’s pretty obvious something is going on. We finally have an appointment in a few weeks.”

Keith took a moment to formulate a response - not wanting to sound like a diagnosis could be a bad thing. 

“I hope you find the answer you need,” he ended up with, hoping it was appropriate. 

Shiro smiled. “Yeah, me too. I think she’s perfect anyway, but, you know. Probably need to figure out if she’s going to have to live with me forever or something.” 

Keith nodded, understanding Shiro perfectly. “Hey, well, I live with my mom. I don’t think families staying together is necessarily a bad thing.” 

Shiro’s smile widened. “I agree.” 

The day stretched on as they sat on the observatory lawn, watching clouds, playing soccer, tag, eating bad ice cream from the food court. As the sun moved behind them, dipping them into the beginnings of evening light, Keith yawned. He wasn’t ready to leave, but the drive home would be long, especially in rush hour traffic. 

“Yeah, me too, baby,” Shiro said quietly, sneaking a quick kiss to Keith’s cheek when Thomas wasn’t looking. 

Keith stood and called Thomas over, ready to start goodbyes. 

“Tell Shiro ‘thank you’, Thomas.”

Thomas opened his arms and hugged Shiro around the middle, yelling “THANK YOU!” and asking Shiro to teach him more about space some time soon. 

“I think we can make that happen, little man,” he answered, turning so Abigail was looking at Keith and Thomas. He said something in her ear, and she gave them both a tiny wave, her black cat swinging in her fist. 

Keith wished he had gotten a picture the instant it was over. 

In the car, a wave of anxiety washed over Keith, knowing he had to finish out his plan. They pulled out of the parking lot and before Thomas could fall asleep from the post-outing crash, Keith cleared his throat. 

“So, did you like Shiro?” 

“Yeah!” Thomas yelled, before launching into an explanation. 

“Well,” Keith continued, nerves twisting his stomach. “I like him too. I, uh, have a crush on him.” 

Thomas’s mouth dropped open, shocked to his core. “EW!” 

Keith smiled, begrudgingly, trying not to make the tension in the car escalate. “We talked about it in the summer, but how would you feel if I went on a date with him?” Keith felt bad about keeping this secret from his son, but he knew the sooner he admitted his feelings the better things would go. Thomas deserved the truth, and even though Keith and Shiro’s pre-existing relationship would remain a white lie, at least for a while, Keith knew it needed to stop being a secret some time soon. 

His feelings were just too strong to continue sneaking around. 

“I don’t know! You’ll go on dates and stuff all the time like Grandma.” 

“What if I promise to always be home on weekends, so we can keep hanging out like always?”

Thomas crossed his arms. “Are you gonna marry him?” 

Keith stared ahead, keeping his eyes on the traffic even though he knew his attention should be on his son. 

“I don’t know. We would have to date for a long time before that happens.” 

“If you get married, does he become my dad or something…?” Thomas’s last question was more quiet, more scared than the others. Keith was both grateful Thomas was easy to read, and sad that he was hurting, scared about anything changing his happy life. 

“That would be up to you. You would never have to call anyone ‘Dad’ if you didn’t want to. He wouldn’t make decisions about you, only I would.” 

Thomas huffed and stopped responding, choosing instead to look out the window for the rest of the ride home, anxiety radiating from him like a bad perfume. 

\---

Over the next few weeks, Thomas avoided Keith. It hurt him, but he knew he needed to give his son the time to process what was happening. Keith put a hold on dates with Shiro until he was able to get an answer from Thomas, but they continued to text and call every day, even late into the night. They swapped pictures, even videos, making Keith miss his touch so dearly he started having dreams about seeing Shiro again. 

It took nearly a month, but by the start of January, Thomas knocked on Keith’s bedroom door and let himself in. 

Keith set his phone aside, grateful nothing saucy had been happening, and didn’t object as Thomas crawled into his bed. It was the first time he had done so since the observatory, and if Keith missed Shiro, he missed his son doubly so. 

“Hey, bud.” 

“I decided you can go on a date with Shiro but only if you pinky promise you’re not gonna be too busy or nothin’.” 

Keith leaned over and grabbed his son into a bear hug, squeezing him until he struggled to get free. 

“Thank you, Thomas. It means a lot to me that you would trust me.” 

Thomas stuck his lip out. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re lucky Grandma talked to me about it.” 

Keith raised his eyebrows, a laugh stuck in his throat about Thomas’s little attitude. “I’ll just have to go thank her, too. Wanna go make food for her?” 

Thomas wiggled his way out of Keith’s arms. “No! I’m drawin’. But if you make dinner let me know when it’s ready, please.” 

Keith kissed his son’s face, purposefully making dramatic kissing noises. 

Thomas screamed, half laughing, and leapt off the bed and ran into his room. 

\---

For Shiro’s birthday, Keith got him flowers. And paid for his next year’s gym membership. And got him a watch, even though he still only ever wore his Grandfathers. And chocolates, knowing he had a sweet tooth. He knew he didn’t have to, that Shiro wouldn’t expect anything in return for his devotion, but buying things for him was easy. Keith kept finding himself picking up items and thinking, “Shiro would like this.” 

Shiro accepted his gifts with chagrin, informing Keith not to get him anything for his next birthday. Keith smiled, realizing they both were looking forward to one more year together. Being on the same page as someone, being in step with Shiro, felt as good as the gourmet chocolates tasted.

“This is too much, baby. Way too much.” 

“It’s the least I could do, after how good you’ve been to me.” 

Shiro shook his head, clearly a little buzzed. “No, baby, you’re too much. Too good. I didn’t even get you a birthday present.” 

Keith laughed, elbowing Shiro in the ribs. “Yeah you did.” 

“And what’s that?” He asked, blithely, as if he couldn’t remember the light he let Keith step into that night. 

Keith sat up, popping a chocolate into his mouth as he formulated his thoughts. 

“I never met someone like you. Someone who’s just so...so kind, so thoughtful. Like, I didn’t think anyone would ever want to be my partner, let alone wait patiently for me to figure my own Goddamned shit out.” 

Shiro stretched out, flat on his back, gazed up at Keith with a tender look on his face. “And I never thought someone would get me excited to go outside again, so here we are.” 

Keith furrowed his brow. “What’s that mean?”

“I told you Curtis criticized my communication skills, and he was right. I wasn’t doing well at the end of our marriage. I didn’t want to do new things, I didn’t want to talk, I just wanted to drop out of school and sit with the mirror box for my arm and whither away. But now, with you around, I’m happy again.”

Keith let Shiro’s words sit inside him before responding, working through everything Shiro was saying. 

“Why didn’t you tell me that?” 

“You were clearly going through it. I didn’t want to add onto it,” Shiro remarked, shrugging where he lay. . 

“So you didn’t communicate?”

“...Right.” 

Keith laughed, but kept eye contact, not yet ready to give up the conversation. It had been so long since he could get anything off his chest it was almost as if the words wouldn’t top falling out of his mouth. But here he was, in love, comfortable, his heart beating a slow, steady pace. He never would have been able to do this conversation a year ago, he realized. The relief made him sweat, as if he couldn’t believe it was true. 

“Well, Shiro,” he said with a breath. “You can tell me anything. I want you to tell me stuff. And I can tell you anything, so it’s even. That’s what a partnership should be.” 

Shiro smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That’s right, you can tell me whatever you want. Whenever you’re ready.” 

Keith glanced out Shiro’s window reflexively, as if he was seeing if someone was watching them. 

“I’ve been thinking about it more and more and I guess it’s just hard to admit I’m terrified of getting left again. Like, my mother left. Pop is dead. The person that got me pregnant blocked my number when I told him. It scares the shit out of me. And maybe, I guess I was thinking if we don’t have sex then it’s like I’m protecting myself.” 

Shiro sat up and draped his heavy arms around Keith’s neck and kissed his forehead. His mouth was warm and gentle, his arms strong enough to hurt Keith but always so tender. 

“We don’t ever have to, Keith.” 

Keith lifted his chin and caught Shiro’s eye, his heart starting to speed up behind his ribs. 

“But what if we did?” 

Shiro smiled as he leaned in to kiss Keith, scattering the paper wrappers from the chocolate box onto the floor. As he leaned forward, Keith realized his weight wasn’t an anchor but a buoy, keeping them in place, preventing them from floating away. When Shiro leaned in to kiss him, he felt as if they were melting together, liquifying. 

Shiro’s knee went between Keith’s legs, grinding in and making Keith gasp out of the kiss. 

“You like that, baby?” 

Keith whimpered as Shiro did it again, angling just right. 

“I guess you do,” he said with a smirk, so self-righteous. Shiro tugged his shirt off, revealing his beautiful chest once more to Keith, and this time Keith couldn’t help but reach up to touch, needing his muscles like some kind of cat, feeling his sides, brushing over his nipples. Keith liked the way Shiro reacted, his moans and shudders going right to Keith’s pants. 

Shiro bent down, crowding Keith into the bed just the way he liked, and put a hand to the zipper of Keith’s jeans. He quirked his eyebrow at Keith, silently asking permission, which Keith readily gave, nodding. 

Shiro undid Keith’s zip and yanked his pants off, strong enough to render Keith naked in but a few short pulls. Keith heard his jeans hit the floor and when he opened his eyes, Shiro was leaning down to kiss his inner thigh. The sight was one he had never seen - someone between his legs, ready to put their mouth on his most intimate spots. 

Shiro’s tongue made Keith whimper, hot fire flowing through his body from the first touch. He was clearly skilled, licking with such precision Keith could do nothing but close his eyes and cry out, helpless to make it stop, even when he felt himself becoming overwhelmed with pleasure. Like he was being struck with jolts of electricity, he thrashed on Shiro’s bed, balling his hands up in the sheets. 

He snuck a peak, opening one eye and gazing down at where his body was joined to Shiro’s mouth, but it was almost too much to handle. Shiro’s expression was serene as he sucked, kissed, and licked his way inside Keith, slowly opening him up with his tongue. 

Keith threw his head back, not wanting to freak himself out by staring. Instead, he listened to his own huffs and moans, shocked at how he sounded. 

When pressure started building in his belly, Keith’s hand went from the bed to the top of Shiro’s head, holding his hair for dear life. 

“Yes, yes, ahh…,” he chanted, unable to keep anything to himself. Shiro did not waver, keeping pace and pressure just right until Keith burst. 

A flood of lava exploded from Keith, engulfing him in molten rock, lighting him on fire as Shiro stayed right there, on that spot that made him dizzy. Keith’s back arched and his legs clamped shut as orgasm took over, but still Shiro didn’t move until Keith shoved him off, oversensitive and near crying again. 

Shiro sat up and wiped his mouth, The sight was so lewd Keith shuddered again, unable to hold back his attraction to the god in front of him. 

“Good, baby?” Shiro asked, always humble even when he knew he was the best. 

“Fuck, Shiro, you’re gonna have to do that again very soon,” Keith panted. 

Shiro grinned, back on his high horse after the compliment. “Yes, sir.” 

Keith closed his eyes, happy and content with the evening and half ready to call it a night, his heart pounding and his muscles limp. But Shiro leaned over to his bedside table and grabbed a glinting gold foil square and a little tube. 

“Do you wanna keep going, Keith?” 

Keith didn’t answer back, instead just spreading his legs like he was being paid to. 

Shiro smiled, this time less self-righteous and more like a puppy getting a treat. He looked so earnest Keith couldn’t help but laugh, rubbing Shiro’s thigh and marvelling at the size. 

Shiro stood and pulled his pants off, stepping out of them and getting back on bed, clearly just as excited as Keith. 

“Jesus, Shiro…,” Keith said, staring at Shiro’s nakedness. 

Shiro grinned, cocky. “Like what you see, baby?” 

Keith smiled back, but didn’t look away. “Last time someone touched me there it was a doctor, so. Go slow?” 

Shiro rubbed Keith’s arm with one hand and used the other to roll the condom down, quickly covering himself with lube.

“Why don’t you get on top?” 

Keith was loath to remove himself from his comfortable (if vaguely damp) spot on Shiro’s bed, but he did, pushing Shiro against the headboard and straddling him, letting Shiro’s cock brush against him oh so slightly. 

Keith shuddered, anticipation thrumming through him as he reached down to hold Shiro steady before sinking down. The stretch burned at first, Keith wincing as Shiro slowly, slowly slid inside of him. As if his body was being seperated, Keith groaned, filling himself with cock, scratching an itch he hadn’t realized had been annoying him for years. 

Shiro’s hands dug into Keith’s hips, squeezing him tight and steady, his fingers surely leaving tiny bruises for Keith to find the next day. 

“Fuck, Shiro, you’re so - fuck - big,” Keith cried out, unable to control his volume. 

Shiro leaned forward and kissed him deeply before lifting Keith up and pulling him back down, fully seating himself inside Keith’s pussy with a broken moan. 

Encouraged by the flush on Shiro’s face and chest, pink and splotchy like he was running a fever, overtaken by lust, Keith put his hands on Shiro’s shoulders and started lifting himself, Shiro’s hand on his hips like a ballast, keeping him up. 

Their bodies slammed together, making what should have been an ugly slapping sound, but Keith’s head was so full of cotton he couldn’t hear anything except his own cries, mixed together with Shiro’s. Keith’s legs ached with the exertion but he couldn’t stop, instead chasing that electric pleasure that radiated from his core, especially when Shiro shoved one hand between them, practically forcing Keith to rub himself off as he moved up and down. 

Shiro nibbled at Keith’s neck, sucking hickies he would have to cover up in the morning. It was the last straw, Shiro attacking him from all available angles, and he shouted as he came for the second time that night. 

Shiro followed quick, bucking up into Keith twice before releasing, twitching inside Keith in such an erotic way Keith was turned on again, even as he came down from his orgasm. 

Shiro’s breath was hot on Keith’s neck and his arms tight around his back, rolling them into a lying position. They extricated their legs from one another, Shiro pulling out with a groan and a burn. 

Keith flopped onto his back, his limbs strewn about, taking up most of the space on the bed. 

“Good?” Shiro asked, his hand finding Keith’s belly, comforting somehow. 

Keith groaned. “Fuck.” 

Shiro laughed. “I’ll take that as a yes. Do you need to shower?” 

Keith lifted his head and looked down at himself, assessing his own nude body. “Probably.” 

Shiro chuckled lightly, eyes glinting. He stood, hauling himself upwards in a way that made Keith want to go for round two. Shiro’s muscles were shining ever so slightly in the light, his ass perfect, his waist small. 

They stumbled into the shower together. Shiro’s en suite was large, white and chrome. The shower was glass and the water pressure strong. Shiro had a surprising amount of shampoos, soaps, and lotions littering the little shelves of the shower, and Keith picked a few up to investigate. 

“You can use whatever you want, baby.” Shiro said, picking up a bottle himself.

“Huh. I usually use a two-in-one…,” 

Shiro turned, spinning on his heel on the slick tub floor. “Oh. Oh no. You have such beautiful hair, you need to treat it better.” 

Keith was a little shocked, not expecting this out of someone like Shiro - someone who looked so rugged, so masculine. 

Shiro reached around Keith and picked up a bottle and shoved it into Keith’s hands. 

“This is shampoo. Please.” 

Keith couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up and out of him, amused by Shiro’s indignant face. Still, he lathered up, begrudgingly enjoying the not-too-strong peppermint scent of the shampoo. With his eyes closed he wiggled around Shiro and washed it out of his hair, feeling the tangles from his earlier braid and the friction from Shiro’s bed sheets. Keith started tugging his hands through his hair, but Shiro held his wrist and put his hands down at his sides. 

“Use conditioner and a comb.” 

“You sound like my mom.” 

Shiro gave him a look - a perfectly practiced Parent Look, a frown and raised eyebrows that made Keith laugh even harder. Still he took the conditioner from Shiro. It was thick and smelled like mint, too, somehow making Keith relax a tiny bit. 

He was shocked when Shiro turned him around and started combing his hair, the metal gently pulling his hair out of it’s tangled mess and into a slick, black waterfall. 

“There you go. Wash that out.” 

Keith rinsed himself off, mad that Shiro was right once again, and tended to his wounds by blatantly ogling Shiro as he washed himself. 

Shiro rolled his eyes and turned the water off, stepping out and throwing Keith a towel. As Keith dried off, Shiro escaped the bathroom and returned with a pile of clothes, handing a shirt and shorts to Keith with a smile. Keith pulled them on, enjoying how soft and worn the cotton was against his skin. The shirt hung down around his neck, gaping a little, and the pants needed to be tied at the waist and rolled at the cuffs, but Keith wasn’t going to complain. 

“Thank you, Shiro,” he said, quietly, hoping Shiro would understand that it was for more than the clothes. 

Shiro pulled Keith in close, for which Keith was grateful. His skin was warm and clean from the shower, heating Keith up to his core. 

“I hate winter,” Keith muttered, losing his train of thought. 

“Why’s that?” Shiro asked, resting his cheek on Keith’s head. 

“It’s cold, everything’s dead, nothing’s happening.” 

“Mmm,” Shiro said, sagely. “Wrong perspective. Nothing’s dead, everything is just waiting, hibernating. Winter is about patience. I feel pretty alive, for example, but I’m waiting til I can get you undressed.” 

Keith laughed, but was struck by Shiro’s observation. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Good, baby, you better. You’re not good at patience. But I am. I’ve been waiting for you for so long, afterall. Now that we’re allowed to date,” he finished with a smile. 

“Wanna go to another museum together?” 

“I would love nothing more, baby.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! I might still write my dream fic - Keith And Krolia Reunion Fun Time - but I'm not sure yet. Please, if you've enjoyed this series, leave a kudos or a comment as it really fills my day with joy to interact with yall!! 
> 
> You can follow me on twitter @softiewrites

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! This fic is finished, just working on revising it at the moment. I hope you enjoyed the beginning, and if you did, please leave a Kudos or comment - that way we can keep having fun together!
> 
> If you want, you can follow me on twitter @softiewrites. Let's chat!
> 
> Thank you to @thoughtsappear and @theinsanefox for reading it over.


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